Geschichte(in English)

Time slowly moves forward like a carriage pulled by a never aging horse. The slow clickity-clack of the horse's hooves on the cobblestone sound like that of a clock ticking. It is ever steady.

I sit covered in a blanket as the invisible driver holds the reins.

It is an inescapable painting strewn across paper that now fills your mind. The words are moving in a way unimaginable and you are consumed by the image in your head.