(%&)12@<Death is like a melting popsicle -?!12wq;
Watch the man wearing the plaid woollen sweater;
his viola has no strings.
The trees are visible.
Go to Virgo, laugh –
Soul is the same skin, straight as beauty.
There is no quantification at Crucible Station;
Dead love sleeps in your dreams.
You have no Waterproof elongated gasket.
The purple soul is steeping,
screams of your grace before a beautiful seal.
The long glamour of slumber creeps in here;
One sand Ò∫.
Skient§mΣZ loves his checkout tailor.
Skin Strings, Predviđanje skeeping tongues.
Who sees it ?
Pour the water slowly & weep.