Rise and shine between the days, soon you will see the preacher slave. Above and beyond the transcendence you will reach, but fool no one for your utmost beliefs. The snake will shred its cocoon of skin and only then it will stride with pride, no haven no more for the long little thing. The melancholic trees laughing at the round happiness while witchcraft slice the ivory doves. Lose no more, stay sturdy for the storm to come. Race your fears, they only exist because they happened before and one more or twice again it will not matter, so rest assured that no one could ever render you incapable of sealing them once and for all. A tiny foot could scatter the flock of pigeons on the floor then run with no remorse, but another tiny foot could be the pigeon to the world. When the black mamba arrives don’t back down and never let your blood be sensed, but strike savagely with your teeth after wearing that shredded cocoon of skin the snake had left behind and lens yourself in a righteous defense.