... because there is a moment, it happened at night, when the city seems to me like a garment torn, filthy and flared. Still warm from the person who dressed indifferent brutality, I see them piled up, deflate, contempt. Not even the rain
laverebbe quell'unto ...
...
How bad breath that bloats the night.
Funeral of the city \u200b\u200boff.
smoke from a thousand mouths
there are in the sky, darker
are already a mirror finish. The yellow moon pupil
sketches
look lazy and vacuous,
no longer watch but hardly
residue of past habit.
Vomiting
happy to remove the lump on the inside.
step s'infanga for roads gorge
brazen sounds and voices neglected
putrid sewers of life compounds
engorged crop of equal souls.
gladly suffocate
empty A miasma of my chest.
There are the ribs rest
tricky static content with my sleep
widens the hole in the sail
slap slap
meeting in the sense that I would not want that
I did not want
the canopy is destroyed
surfers
is stopped and the wind is blowing moral
saving
recourse to arms
those who want to continue on its own
constancy
Comi [n] us to row.
We are all shipwrecked
Mar, there has This sucks. "
G: A:
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