Try to imagine what to say because
Your field of life was destructed
As you were too bad to live,
Too bad (with an odd face and strange eyes) to look nice.

Try to imagine what to write because
There are mirrors of the unknown,
The thing you have to understand before your death
That all moths must live before their death.

But when your face looks bad and shameful,
We liberally choose the best children
And all the moths must die before their life.
There is not any sense, and life is not a value.

Clapping echoes of reality deduce impossibilities.
Scissors tear many flowers, many shy realities.