— Pages disseminated in slaughterhouse.
I. Being gazed at by thousands of people with assorted emotions, enslaved to life scenarios. Traces of eternal problems or an uninhabited asteroid? The Universe welcomes the children of the mother and the moon when guiding love that does not beg and then asks which pain is the most desirable. Still given time to enjoy baskara the next day. Do not hold something that is not there, you will formulate a taste of dystopia. Condemn the sky if you want to look at the sky, but don't be afraid to fall into the abyss. Tears have frosted inside her lids. Feet and hands numb with loneliness. Life always demands to be satisfied, to forget that joy is a dagger that pricks the conscience. Let's celebrate the time we accidentally arrive at the fifth full moon.
II. We are just accidental bodies. Some of the paragraphs we have written down are the results of self-trumpets. And those who are busy blaming themselves will only become dry, uninhabited leaves. Ah, is the sky empty there? Without the blue, are you sure that there are still stars or even at night you don't want to turn your face? We are simply reincarnations of time apart from the pledge of the same sense where we comprise invocation.
I. Being gazed at by thousands of people with assorted emotions, enslaved to life scenarios. Traces of eternal problems or an uninhabited asteroid? The Universe welcomes the children of the mother and the moon when guiding love that does not beg and then asks which pain is the most desirable. Still given time to enjoy baskara the next day. Do not hold something that is not there, you will formulate a taste of dystopia. Condemn the sky if you want to look at the sky, but don't be afraid to fall into the abyss. Tears have frosted inside her lids. Feet and hands numb with loneliness. Life always demands to be satisfied, to forget that joy is a dagger that pricks the conscience. Let's celebrate the time we accidentally arrive at the fifth full moon.
II. We are just accidental bodies. Some of the paragraphs we have written down are the results of self-trumpets. And those who are busy blaming themselves will only become dry, uninhabited leaves. Ah, is the sky empty there? Without the blue, are you sure that there are still stars or even at night you don't want to turn your face? We are simply reincarnations of time apart from the pledge of the same sense where we comprise invocation.