Tomiro, you refuse to live like November is here. So we let you sleep reminiscently, longer than ever in your vaettir cave. Today we transported you right into some human being's sunny maredream. In front of you an eight-year-old boy was running on that lingering stone path, with dangerous sea on both steepy sides. You tried to control this kid, like in a computer game. His family helped along walking, but he ran too fast. Successively stone path dissapeared, as you found yourself almost drowning, in unreadable map spots. Iceblocks became not seagulls, rather supersized piano keys, playing broken pieces.

We watched you wake up, happy after all. You wanted to dream once more, you little fool! So we made you paint a picture of simply flying ghosts. Below them you placed Torino, or as our swedes once named it : Turin. This was fourth biggest city of Italy, before tornados changed proportions of whole football boot into a madman's hat. Torino became third after Rome second and Palermo on top. Anyway, when you realized the lamp should be lit - to see what you've really done - button never worked. Feeling like you were Miró?? No, we don't pronounce Tomiro like that!