Caption: Makruf al-khadad.
Tonight there's no fucking drink I can make. The atmosphere becomes dying. Ah .... this is an anonymous land that is often spoken of by people foaming, really, I never thought that this nameless land really haunts everyone. Whereas for me this country is not a corpse. Although I feel the country is like a corpse or at least is dying. But why is everyone still talking about this country is still sacred because shaded thanks to.
I stood still for a moment, picked up a cigarette in my shirt pocket, lit it and sucked it deep and then crafted the song I created with my favorite band, MAMAHIMA, the lyrics as follows:
He said our country is rich
He says our country is prosperous
He said our country is fertile
He said we were easterners
Inconsequential
He said we are cultured
He said we were special
He said we are archipelago
He said we are Indonesia
Inconsequential
He .... country thieves
The ruler was the king of thieves
He ... the country of rice
Many people can not eat rice
He ... the land of the law
Many people are immune to the law
He ... tai country
Wealth is brought abroad
Perhaps because of the romance of the past about the dashing and strongness of the kingdom of Sriwijaya in Sumatra, Majapahit in the land of Java or a small monument in the center of the capital or because of the hospitality of its residents who make this country rusty if not be dead bodies or dying. If it is possible, everything can be possible, I muttered to myself. Lest because ...... Oh, never mind.
Not to mention my fury, the sound of lightning and the flash of light obscured all the dugs and played with all my questions.
Then I lay my body on a stupid couch not far from the old history book of the colonial legacy. There I chatted with mythological victims who did not know what they were experiencing, but had to believe wholeheartedly.
such as Black Coffee.