Thursday, August 11, 2011
Perpetual public crowds swarm the sincere areas,
Slippery slopes are for them, a royal hound deplores;
A profuse gathering eliminates me and the rest,
Robust royal battalions begin to shrill and be silent.
Round and shaped like circles, the array joins the people,
In a moment of a revolution, in the moment of thoughtlessness.
The tight-fisted wander and make me a shut-mouthed man,
Threatening me is the tiredness of individuals.
A ruthless scheme is about, tiring us more,
Shocking and secretive are the results.