Human has never failure, who say? Nobody, even the genius one would say that's impossible to deny, that human being are neva made even inch of failure because of their natural bornly characteristic, human are unique, human are pretends pleasure, human are mortal. But when each side of I am asking to praise, I comply. Re granted that the phase of pretending the grateful power is powerful being?
Release me light, hell nor heaven is just an ash in the air. Life has no taste of a guilty pleasure I'll wait for the long beach of disguise. October 21, 2001. A rainy day, stormy weather, I were in a foggy room, staring at the window, seeing my curse, founding the transparency between us, you both discuss in the front of me, some kids running slowly, running rashly, they killing at a glance. I was trapped in a conversation that you surrounding perhaps to release my future. There's no debate, I cry once, my tears fall. You said i have no mental illnesses.
Logically devouring you down, into the depth beyond of the devil's grave. The world blurring, I laugh, laughingly loud, and a partly hugged by you. The theory of human being you cradle all years gone, all centurion have been slain to renew the new world order, all redefined, human affection case. Raindrops fall, piano play, eh, who play the piano, little son? Little daughter of god chosen to people. The noon obscure, my time to play has affordable coming. We talk in the veranda, I smile, you confess me. Layering some advice that this world is occasionally befriended us. Whereas mine the world is disappeared, an irresistible paranoia, the order, the list. Baby Horus thirst need to be pleasant, some Sims gone, some Sims played their destiny, this is the game of life. Why shall thou? The atmosphere has ignorant to sickness. What if I expose you. What if I had my Lucy brown in you, what if the size is actual return of a kindness opposite in beneath. What a bliss, my lady pleasure, mine of neglected hollowing psychotic diagnoses.
Release me light, hell nor heaven is just an ash in the air. Life has no taste of a guilty pleasure I'll wait for the long beach of disguise. October 21, 2001. A rainy day, stormy weather, I were in a foggy room, staring at the window, seeing my curse, founding the transparency between us, you both discuss in the front of me, some kids running slowly, running rashly, they killing at a glance. I was trapped in a conversation that you surrounding perhaps to release my future. There's no debate, I cry once, my tears fall. You said i have no mental illnesses.
Logically devouring you down, into the depth beyond of the devil's grave. The world blurring, I laugh, laughingly loud, and a partly hugged by you. The theory of human being you cradle all years gone, all centurion have been slain to renew the new world order, all redefined, human affection case. Raindrops fall, piano play, eh, who play the piano, little son? Little daughter of god chosen to people. The noon obscure, my time to play has affordable coming. We talk in the veranda, I smile, you confess me. Layering some advice that this world is occasionally befriended us. Whereas mine the world is disappeared, an irresistible paranoia, the order, the list. Baby Horus thirst need to be pleasant, some Sims gone, some Sims played their destiny, this is the game of life. Why shall thou? The atmosphere has ignorant to sickness. What if I expose you. What if I had my Lucy brown in you, what if the size is actual return of a kindness opposite in beneath. What a bliss, my lady pleasure, mine of neglected hollowing psychotic diagnoses.
I'll be upon you.