Snow flakes look like stars
White pillows on the cars
Two glasses of beer and one Czech ***

Outside, sugared lion behind the windows
Inside, old type-writers under the windows
The nicotine yellow short lace curtains on the panes

You are here and you are not here
Pickled soft cheese, bread and beer

And you still have not sent
The value added tax
The workers are tired
they need to relax

Your belly itches

They talk about cars

It could be the pine
Could be the willow
Or the lights behind the window
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