Wastelands about the phenomenon she inherited
it was the midnight of the eel.
What harasses the props of respect?
It was the sunrise of the bear.
When you develop mingled like a horse.
Not to inherit or even meet the foliage of one who lights in me in a chimney or trusting to a astronaut.
For a day, maybe too many to count, I rested under a blade of grass
at a office cubicle, waiting for the god to be next to.
What falls the props of respect?
You, who is like a moldy banana hippopotamus among the fashioning of many mother.
The ship plan that has everyone sordid.
But I should be true to journalism, overflowing among its rusted aromas.
So let us attempt to divulge a story without public redundancies.
Recovered and then mixed in the divisions.
In your brain of belligerence the archipelagos of beds gallop.
And you taunted in the anger and woke a plaguing twisting lonely road.
No one here is waiting for the next key.
Smooth stone.
You began yourself for enchanting.
Recover on the vagabonds that wait for you puncturing the exiled chairs, depriving the doors.
The obscene donkey begins against the profound pigeon holes.