i m writing reports of the days and the nights locked up for years in a measure of mind when with a net of nothing i was trying to catch the motions of a mind and the methods of a crime i never saw the chance and never what i held in my hands the lights are all red in this town where i m killed by exhausts and alcohols that dry out my skin i never had a clue of the role that i played but that s the condition and the price that we pay