tales of the men at dawn, whom youth flew, some swam, some drowned, all of the Dead will always be alive; snowy numb bird by the nightfall. tales of the kids with clenched fists, in thousands of agonies — they exist. mornings and nights in the nothingness shoved. tales of the days that are yet to come, speaking of a world novembering, figures in the rain and jesters on the road, all before whom I stand, just like you, fratello mio.