Tutti morimmo a stento

When you stand at the edge of infinity, on the verge of a death caused by the smothering effects of heroin, the only music you hear is silence, and you realize that life is worth living, no matter how painful it is, for in it, music still plays. But how to come to grips with the reality of your violation except through escape into psychedelic visions? Yet even in the visions, flowers wither and die in the brutal sun amid a parched and cracked land. The innocent and the guilty suffer, the former ravished and the latter punished.