You saw no sign of November this morning neither, not even a glimpse of fog. Dirty leaves continues to cover each machine and every grave down the whole plastic street. However you found an electric collection of wooden words, written by some creature called Tranströmer. We're impressed that you, Tomiro, manages to read human letters and meanings!! Since vaettir people seldom do. And we know today ain't your first time trying to interpret POETRY. Anyhow - really believe these pictures inside your head upholds clear relation to those pieces of lyrics?? Why not suspect their pattern arises from separate, untransformable stories?!