O migrant bird, full of lust The distance from a world, between your world with me You are comrade of Shaporks, I think of golmon Following the scent of roses, I remember the smell of my nun your infinite world; All of the lights of the light my world a palm; On the cold ceiling of a grave
I am going to the night, you are telling the story of the story I am in the horror cocoon, and the laughter why you tell the story
the alley of the earth, the crisp and tired stems; Rural people, with callus closed legs in front of a new photo, three old albums or hearing a story, in an intimate tale for me, my life, temptation, sadness , or breathe, I have fun You say
O migrant bird, all jumping jumping Tiredness of a bag, in my body like a wounded leopard, full of look and look at the temptation of the soil, I dont want to be like a shadow, under my feet From Priya Storytelling I am in the horror cocoon, and why are you telling the story
