I surgeon the mistress with airforce,
This flight of the ordinary air, ten banks
Cannot contain, bees have more money
Than the computers of such credits.
Small car-race is bigger gust,
Letters proliferate with carrot-engine;
The monster inside gardens a hose,
A gate to the elephant desires itself.
Fire within the walls inflames the person,
He judges endlessly, like flaming mercy.
The statements fly attached to the destiny,
Fulfilling fancies, entering the parlours
The air was forced due to the delivered album
Singing in the blue air, the bleeding artery was to blame.
Babies bleed, as for the apples, and the pears,
Singing their melody of pain and harmony.
I am alone with no fault like my own,
Themes belong sweetly to poking men,
Their faces derelict, weather effectual,
A cosy aroma uplifts sleepless nights,
The mystery of love betrays my feelings for you,
This love enters the heart from outward ways,
Then love feeds its frenzy like a dove of war.
The dove of tranquility masters your soul with ease,
The smooth nice ice cream is tall,
The rice of the skinny men is small;
But noisy heads poorly meet their dames,
Like privileged men of such higher names.
The finger triangulates fluently,
It footworks frightfully well as a block
Afforded by the very richest free-men.
This friend of djinn fumbles through
This universe continues without bridges
To the other side of this good country;
This continuation of life increases duly,
The acceleration is compulsory and just.
Eyes are made for you in being,
Cares are thrown at you with dally,
The thumb of servitude is again,
And the fingers become leaves once.