When I look at my pathetic, chubby, anti-body, reddish spheres glistening on my face - something strange desolation flies over me and settles on me. Why couldn't I be worthy of you? - are you asking this? How could I have built a glass palace for you from the tears of my pure, hopeful heart? I would just sit with a sure, warming awareness that your angelic being fills all the essentials, and while our two hands: A kindly watchful swan hand intertwine their dreams with my oak and rugged hands.
Now, with a stifled, bitter, self-hatched mood, I think of how you ended up on the island of desire of your dreams, and I stay here now like a lost person left in the woods, whose heart is bleeding from several wounds! My intellect is now still weak with pity and broken will for your pity, and he begs: Oh! How much I wanted to whisper only to you, softly and softly,
so that only your fairy-ears can confidently listen to my secrets, all that is sweetened, attracted like an electromagnet to you. you stood before me and bewitched me with your unquenchable desire, always my tutyimutyi mood, and I tried to feed my fire consciously, boldly, so that the proud and one-time cop of our passions would never go out,
juror chained to the kisses of your love like a prisoner, and I couldn’t, in my desperate, vulnerable pain, even give up on you forever! "At that time, they're still guarding with roaring light, staring at my dreams with rhinestones." I would run away if I could but I am with you in your mind too!
