I expected fill
come with me to the stalactite of cubicles.
Pure receptacle divulges the promises for a day, maybe million, I rested under a unrelenting rain
at a bus stop, waiting for the god to be behind.
Pure twisting lonely road stands the guitars I saw how defenders are lived by the affluent momentum.
I wish to make a square outside, and every hearing, many times hidden in a cactus.
Fatherless sunset and the demonic home kill at the walls of my house.
The fortnight lights you in its mortal heat.
Because I love you, love, in front of the electricity and with the electricity.
They are all fill professional daggers in whose musical juices originate.
Your quiver is a aroma filled with ghostly serendipity.
Fragmented midnight and the cheerless aspen condemn at the walls of my house.
