martes, 3 de agosto de 2010

Building a drunked voice


Building sadness
My voice is empty, far cry and hoax
There is not sweet perfume around here
Here is a state of solitude
Everything is the same old fart
A hobo merciless of bastard's heart
Glass broken my wind, wind down
Mind sold for a plate of tears and beans
Shaving hand of female beast I hope
Kissing my neck when I'll drunk at this chair
Steel, cold breeze, tender wood of axe.
Cracked sordid lift. Two walls beside to jump.

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