-A syllable trou vous plaît!
crown me with daisies, queen of misfortune and other ephemeral pleasures eternal in the sand. Let landforms, while we attacked our reflection on the water begins to boil. Tonight we bourgeois dinner guests at the home of a noble destiny as slaves in the harvest dance. When Jones-style escape and perhaps we are under a Theobroma cacao, which may pretend to be anything else, and once again we did not dawn.
follow the trail of glowing dust left by the fairies after his death, and I believe the drunken nostalgia floating in the stories of old salts. Meanwhile go about the fields in which we live, shooting scarecrows. Invite you to dance in her golden remains with the sun falling to free us and the crows on the branches of your soul, my soul, verbal silence.
season, translucent and unknowns, listening to the stories we tell, - saved to a siren before firing point, I had coffee hidden in a crater on the Moon, I met while dancing in the leaves of a dirty yellow book ...,- and the evident certainty of a skeptical crazy belief.
pity or compassion, I know, I forged between the traumatic events of the uncontrollability of the soul. Still, I'm ready, it's time the shadows will play at Voodoo, drinking traps to the light, and a thousand distant so much is reflected back, with the difference that this time, will not be deleted, ever, ever.
0 comments:
Post a Comment