Dont tell me things dont tell me. Sleep with the window of my stone my life I remember you on the sky with me a daily tearing that is repeated in your absence The fault of our sleep. You are kicking and tan under the white cover of the white bus Dont tell me nothing to give me nothing please Let the wheat in the mind of my accent be doubtful At all, I am then our bad here that the poem does nothing wrong That the way to the way and The inferiority of our inferiority by the imagination of our destruction There is no one here to even complain At all I am at all bad
No one is big, nothing is deep. Were Dont tell me something dont give me something Crying slowly Slowly shout Black Black Sutrows Green Roots I also walk in your sleep As if we are no longer Oh Sanfarani Surreal Only Cologne
Laughs Basic Basic and Anzali I left I am not at all bad.
