My dad stands in the net of uncertainty, looks down like a long-lived, experienced and timed man, dare to face his young face with a werewolf - my father is entangled in the net of uncertainty:

I see the ramparts of rich heights of porthole, their trembling, gray hedges, and teach with a stubborn mood the eternally unbridled, natural lesson: "Do not give yourself!" - The dogs' chorus of chants yell in the roaring sounds of the street - that I flee and bounce back in a panel vack unless I see them! Bloods are laughing freely, as executioners, as four-footed perils! - My dad's not fine! Asthmatic seizures, hurricane oxygen deficiencies stifle your bushy lungs with suffocation! The doctors liked to try their patience with the patience of the patient, as a kind-hearted prisoner!

The crouching back of the humpback mountains - across the horizon, even a bouncing whip: Lightning-knife zigzag, female twilight wheat kisses the sun's rays. Tomorrow, there will be new trials: Either you bow as an obedient willor, or you will stand as a convicted man, to play with you cheaply and as a rag!

Carefully, there is an ore-ring from the depths of the valley captivity - My father is trapped in a web of insecurity, has become more and more difficult to move, and has a well-developed but still zingara body. No calling, no gesture, just long throats, grumbling sound tapes - With the final countdown begun at Man's birth, he borrows to death! Maybe my dad is bitter, slowly, and like the raw lemon