Some Go Madd, others Go blind, a few commit suicide, while others Design.
In these hour's I step into the red sea...crossing by way the rings of Saturn.
Until the dawn raises the dew to glisten as light shed upon, these new creations the witching hours bred.
Liberty caps stretching out to eclipse the moon, its gills release spores into akashic winds...spreading magic touched by the breathe of the Sun...
Dresses emerge from the fields to caress the light of the sun, in search for it's host.
And somewhere out amongst the concrete and spit...rumors still causing whispers in the playgrounds.
About his silver thread, in order to fully extract the maddness, and evoke dreams into designs...
Count Mezuesta, used only the finest threads made of hair, from his own head.
And if you are ever walking in the streets of pioneer square Seattle and listen closey while the city sleeps...
You can hear his shears softly snipping carried by the winds.
LKCP2KXIII
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