God felt pity on what had came of Adam and Eve
So he created Aapo and blessed him with the goddess Ece

Many nights and many days the lovers ruled over the land
But Aapo was weak to temptations and got killed by a siren

So Ece was left on her own, her heart was turning to stone
Because the lovers that came next , all kept on doing her wrong

Damian was too obsessed with getting under her dress
She still remember being deflowered then left with a ****** mess

****** was a little too rough , left her with bruises and scuffs
She use to love to smile but now she just don't smile enough

Lastly Camillio was her piece of joy but with her heart he would toy
Then one noisey night she found him in bed with a boy

Beautiful Ece you queen, the world has been doing you mean
Your way too precious for us, so she made her own death nice and clean

I wouldn't call it suicide cause the world killed her first
Its our fault our goddess is gone and now is covered in dirt

I could kiss you
                            and
touch you
                  and
love you
                for my life time
and more.

Something about you
                                      brings my body
to life
           and my brain
flickering fast
                         and
my heart
                beating like crazy.

Love is quite complicated
                                              but it seems as if
we fall gracefully on top of
                                                each other
as if we were the
                              m  iss     ing       pi       ece
to the puzzle that is
                                    human souls.

as ever, the ironie, becomes the witz... as usually happens, the germans treat irony as the english treat ridicule... both become a grand-jesture of a joke's worth of talk... i prefer the german use of irony, than the english use of ridicule... must be the continental blood running through me, that morphs into a totality of, stated sentimental bias.

i already "said" this line before...
   what's the greatest irony
                    of the 20th century?
                          *arbeit macht frei;
what?! i thought the english love
dark humour?
   two-faced humour?
      isn't that the case, though?
the more idle the work,
  the more stress on
  the maxim, arbeit macht frei;
internet content, sure,
  but internet contex?
   i just turn on a switch,
   and a blank screen pops up...
ra-ra-radical maaaaaaaan...
    it only took an article
in the sunday times style
magazine to revive the irony...
verbatim quotes:
(a) only working
                     more can save us!
  (b) ****, there's no b., ah! but there's
   a c.
  (c) long before online harassment
was invented... focusing on the work
can save a girl.
so who the **** needs auschwitz's
       ᛋᛋ-men? when
  haven't the supposed "prisoners"
have morphed into ᛋᛋ-men?
               workacholic / gym junkies?
the article?
   like mother / like daughter
   by ece temelkuran...
  indeed, in the 21st century's translation
of the 20th century,
   arbeit macht frei,
since so much work performed
      is idle, or simply void of context
with regards to other works...
           thankfully,
  that puts the arisotractic class on
the ******* moon...
                       given that they don't
work, which also means
   their "hobbies" / spare time activities
are nullified with regards
         to middle-class professions:
those:
internet-content-*******-and-*******:
    faulheit macht versklavt,
                         wann arbeit ≠ arbeit
                                        albeit: faulheit;
contemplate the blatant disregard
or lack of respect for manual labour,
          and the vanity glorification
                 of intellectual endeavours...
                       was ist arbeit in die west?
we already know,
                        social media, and fashionm,
und die marke, i.e. the brand:
and the corruption of language:
from the ancient concept of λoγoς -
                   to simply an emblem:       λoγo,
as one might have guessed,
    the criticism / evolution of iconoclasm
would morph into a grammaclasm,
     the sacred, rating of copyright
                               of, say, the word nike -
ah... but i didn't write out
   the correct pronunciation, which in new
york, apparently sounds like, i.e.
                                                   nigh-key;
you ain't got **** on me,
                 given you plagiarißed
greek mythology to create a brand;
              ******* tourists of jurisprudence:
mammon's leeches,
                            reichtumblutegels.