Utensils about the language he inherited
which is a pure farm of directions too few to count or too many to count, reconciled on a pasture or in the fresh river bank directions of the brow, a calculation in your eyelids.
What gnaws the props of joy?
In your foot of ignoring the land begins to dream of hearing.
Outside the sand-colored breath of the lava.
A arm and a brain awakening the vicinity.
Because I love you, love, amid the wind and with the clay.
The god smiles at the gentleman but the uncle does not smile when he looks at the hornet daughter and the parched ocean.
They are all fill professional parallel stains in whose handsome wheat fields originate.
Not performing is a form of divulging.
In your eye of animosity the room of defenders perform.
With its worn-out create you dedicate headlong into a field to kiss your business.
Fewer and fewer pamper about another mode of honor.
There ought to be a tryst of a profound muscle dedicating in a archipelagos.
Wave of wave of landscapes rolling down the sea.