Sunday, December 22, 2013
The smoke was like incense,
The fire was like seizures of heat
With scents of hell and sires,
Who died with hot people,
These sires were even the devils.
The follies of youth start to work
On and on, moving into drinking
And eating in the restaurants of spice;
Little amounts to little,
For that they do what they do.
The smoke of the food is immense,
Begging is no use for us
As the splendour of this day
Has white overalls in disarray,
Instilling hatred in the rich people.