your shoulder to my hand there is doubled midway when your eyelid wakes up and decides to disappear. Then I think Having A blurred and gone, in fact I do, but do not you go, we go.
think going alone but Ant is still there, covering every inch of your skin. Every bit of your body between my hand and your shoulder, between your eyelid and your lobe. Then
sleep: Trying to break away from the world of ideas and stay in the world of dreams where the insects never sleep and never cease in its tingling. Then sleep.
think going alone but Ant is still there, covering every inch of your skin. Every bit of your body between my hand and your shoulder, between your eyelid and your lobe. Then
sleep: Trying to break away from the world of ideas and stay in the world of dreams where the insects never sleep and never cease in its tingling. Then sleep.
But Ant does not.
ants, how the streets, never sleep. And there, in the midst of such human landscape tremebundo me and leave me: not knowing where to go. But I do not care, thus enough for me, with nothing in your aroma.
The needles do not stop, the hand does not get tired and still there watching Ant cobwebs. The insect has cravings: Who does not? The insect also.
For mimicry, after cutting through the texture of the road whose distance is doubled when your eyelid awake, where I wanted to get there. I do not see but I'm there, but hear me whispering: Where to hang handmade metal spheres of differing sizes. And I swing by them over and over again, but do not brag, because you're in the world of dreams where the insects never cease in its tingling.
looks After all, Mr. Lorenzo and brings Too much blood.
