The fierce fervor is as if every minute of drawing a lot of tolerant psychology with straight lines; The unmarked play of rope-nerves, whether some amateur, or rope dancing, falls on the face of our rope dancing days, overlooks spider web. It would also be good to redraw the whimsical shadows, while they can be scrambled so that they can not be treated in any way.

Not only can the crowded tyrants be replaced by the crowded, constantly competitive, shaped career desire, but also the betrayed love if he can follow a desire for selfishness and possession. - interrogating handshake, unexpected redemption of the things that have happened in the past as answers,- because the conscious deficiency almost always closes its open soul-doors, because now it is now, as if it were to be filled with *****, bargaining, agony; Sooner or later, human memory and fate-nourished blindfold are all over-the-go, and it will end what it may have been.

Cause and cause of swinging scales, as if they were going on, it would be tense on a single desk until it bounces; The wise man makes himself a sacrifice so that no other miscalculation hurts are caught by otherwise. In the lost haze of stateless roads, even the blind moles and fits are marching without a flashlight; They don't even know where they can go, so far they only smell the nasal smells.

Once we will judge a draft, underworld walks, where Virgil himself will be a guide to our guide; Prepaid suspicion puts a beetle in our ears again and again.

Moccan in my soul is a hundred thousand years where China says s Juang si. It would be better to put my head down, like ostrich birds permanently. After all, a little creation or creation is already trapped - just so - on halfway. The vapor of a silent stuttering, which is multiplied by the number of stuttering, is panting: how and how to carry on, if a well-ringed, pre-planned plan has passed through, or is it a left-wing ladder of fate?!

The minutes of the pockets have long been sold to the wealthier stroma frenys and money-people, that they only own the possibilities, procurement and tenders only; They themselves are increasingly noticed now that they are increasingly able to mimic the petty joyful dariders of their greedy selfishness.

Perhaps nowadays, silent witnesses, or forced to listen, have been fled, and they wanted to testify, because they could secretly realize that almost nothing could change here, but everything was dilapidated or permanently ruined. - The Peace Promenade is less and less possible to find or find it, as everyone is in the interest of selfish-worsening. Silent cavities are in the depths of the tin can-souls empty ...

There are often arguments and counter -arguments in the volume of the lungs, because they cannot be proven; Things and situations are less and less exhausted, and they do not accept the good friend or the beggar of the bark. Rust scent on garbage waste!

I would often take my own destiny; What I once thought could not own, and maybe it can't really be mine anymore. As a hesitant, lame, ***** person, I would just look at how many more ways I have to do to survive they could get along. The man, whom others looked at, spit on, exploited, as if to start slowly, disappear in the retina of staring mirrors, with a bending waist, tormented shoulders, which often carried atlas burdens, instead of others, if not. The squeaky sand grains of existence are their gears - so they often get crazy.

I was just forced to rotate a potted number; Say, do I admit the true, wounded word, which God really hurts, because the dog is not very attentive to patience, through-fear-I would be a mistake to chew on the Hungarian Ugar-pendant, where the average is taboo-til and cannot be.

To the core, my visceral stigma heart only shapes me, shapes me, and with step-by-step tools, I have a hard time squeezing in, raising my head; The pain of disappointments, handshakes, creatures is no longer pilling, but I prefer to be warned, too suspicious and too careful at three steps away.

All of my hesitant moves turn back to me when life is about to me, and while my cumbersome, ship -wrapped days, on the barren, rushes past me, even the deserved happiness, and I can feel a little human.

Like the rootless tree, which is forced to tolerate its harsh fate, the screams of ruthless, ruthless fierce windstorms, and the emerald-green scaly foliage; My drooling, sickly organs whine; Permanent hypertension and hypertension are infected. I've been forced to carry the absolute treasure of the facts for a while!

Childhood should have been gentle and clean until possible. The gloomy, deliberately dark nights can hardly bring comfort to the souls. Street lamps, neon lights, alley -smelling winds, their teeth were carved into all of our vulnerable meat when playgrounds offered people a symbolic gift instead of idyllic peace in the age of idyllic peace.

Rather, we deliberately crossed the many distressing cradle of decades; When was it easier to survive and bearable to the born tuna indifference?! With the universe, immortal fulfillment, only the cheap consolation of our ******* body, because emotions seemed to be deliberately empty and became a dirt.

In vain we could have wanted to understand the hangman time plowing deep hind legs on our face, which rather takes away, but gives nothing in return, it depends and passes only according to our relative reality. -We have been stuck here in a barren, or maybe most eternal children, who hasn't forgotten for sure that he had once had a nursery that had a Jojo, a whirlwind, Moncsicsi, Lego, and Matchbox color switching cars in the military order.

Where were the beautiful times that were left, when we could feel that everything was much simpler and clearer because there were no obscure, unclear questions and answers?! Many times it would be so good if we were eternally comforted by the everyday vicissitudes of reality, and someone would be pushed away! It would be good if someone who is comforted in our lives!

Already everywhere, it is self -indulgent, manipulating, stingy, boiled sheep. "Yes, Director! How did the weekend pass? Do you command coffee, tea, sweetener? The professional conference and meeting may not be more deadly boring anymore! " - hears a powerful head in the murmuring heads of the monotony.

Chattering, chicory-sounding collapse, universally, was also overwhelmed by the mass-wreathed masses; Hebrencs priest, promise, rubbing, greedy, lustful salivation, maid-smelling ringworm-pitian pitching no end or length. Wildlife, Celeb media of Hübrist. Because for the most part, you will have a heartbreaking heart at any time, if no one is willing to watch or noticed that more and more things are wrong and ruined in Central and Eastern Europe!

Wandering, afterlife's griefs have moved to our forever guilt -in -law, which do not want to start to start, but even to sew well; stubborn, hard, or scrappy, easy -to -peeling onion?! As if there were no many choices nowadays. For thirty -six hours a day, a free infarction in captivity in the upcoming organization is stabbed, which - usually - no one counts.

Gravitational idyllic dreams are drawing down the long -term and precisely planned harmony and prosperity; In the piano teeth of the piano, the problem is, and while people playing riddles around the loud illusion, the rope nerves that are racing and troubles are being responsible for each other.

Fossilized smiles, starting, small -style, superficial gestures, splashing, rattling as broken flowers, not only in the heart of bribes - but also from ***** syrupy, self -stamping shows.

The question of the already boredom, how am I in the boredom?

The sober, logical free -thought thought -if at all -stops the sans, to discuss sans as a meaningful, intelligent adult, because it is customary only in the top ten thousand, or in cafes renovated for billions, gentlemen.

Romance, beautiful eating, helpful, unselfish love smiles are no longer what was and could have been; The handcuffs of pity came, while the love passion of the universe is a sharpened spear, which leaves killer-stigma wounds, which are increasingly difficult to heal. The uncertainty disillusioned from the whites of the soul is echose's ventricular response: a crumbling, smelling blasphemy every five minutes, any kind of sour cream, like a parent or an attractive nurse.

The entire Alamus line of compromise negotiating positions was deadlock: "Do you still love honestly and really nice?! Or do I just need a good social status, and do you need relationships that you can boast of any of your partner queen girlfriends as a diva?!

You may not be crying for your forgotten pigeon hairs here; It began to scream, and for the nights, when you have almost gotten the nightmares of the nightmares, the dog could not remember it. Every decade, you still need to take all the lawyer of your life, the guillotine movement of the petty, envious, insidious gazes, which will get closer and closer to the promises of small-shaped retaliation.

Straits wounded the outlines of your childhood back, which, in a short time, was completely tired, but you couldn't say anything, and you didn't pay attention because you were a minor legally, humanly.

In your eternal child, the weathered, slightly stubborn face shows the harsh-trenches that you believe to be lost that you can no longer get back; nor in the form of gift or privileged gestures - your inner soul falls cannot even erase the traces of your conscious selfishness. - You book your losses in a nice line, your Talmi-ócska merits, with which you either intentionally bread, or trampled your remaining dignity.

The stigma mines faded in trembling, trembling inside are tense, shouting, or just begging: "Where do you stay for such a dear angel, who with your one glance you comfort the restless whimpering, orphaned worn-out kids I stayed?! Apocryphal secrets.

Celeb-smelling exibitionist **** is the romantic self-pity of sentimentalism and the glass pots of mosaic. The last adolescents cherish dandelion loves because - maybe - they have no mood for the world of superficial, muddy absolute adults!

In front of us is a messy, -to say, -in the ***** of a stoic, tuna indifference, perhaps a bit persecuted, human -wreeds, give each other; I still want to save their movable values. Not only the spiritual poor-but also the turrannos that want to be of power, suffer from unknown blindness, because well-suited false interests are cheap, lying, and even so, the average is the same.

There may have been nicer, more successful worlds all over themselves, and as light promises, anyone who is still very susceptible to it was well-placed. Initially, all wills and intentions are creative and evolving, and in the meantime, it becomes manipulated, which runs through hand and middle and is ready for a pseudo -illusion, in which, undoubtedly, it can even be clung to a couple of decades, but after an accelerated disappointment; What was the point of formulas for dreams of card castles?! - Because the consciousness is increasingly not taking its place in its possible van.

And while upstairs, the pigeons who are desiring to fall in the sky can raid and they can empty their waste material in their mourning, the simple average can hardly wipe not only the liquid snow-white snacks on his head, but also the petty bribery of capitalized life.

It would be good to steal the expandable time, as well as the secret of Eden, a little for ordinary people; Instead of an imaginary joy and apparent, acute happiness crushes, extend the tangible prosperity that you. Not only spiritus, but even the Sus, is losing weight too early.

Who else remembers the faithful, friendly handshake, which we used to give each other a gift of each other as the pledge of possible adult lives?! Next to our eyes, the raven-born, attractive little hind legs are trembling, while our thinning hair, which began to be bald, testifies to decades of turning reversal.

In the harbor of the sea bays, Lorelalay fairy shape, unfolds his long hair, on which the water drops are still trembling as the pearls of real beads, and his superstitious gaze still says, "Don't be afraid of anything! I will save from all the Galad -Komis troubles that this traitorous world will deliver to us!

This is how the exclusion of conscious loneliness was once; When we thought we were eternal childish, adolescent, that the so-called. Absolute adults can never speak anymore because it does not belong to them. And while the soft heads were overgrown, and some of their children were born, somewhere that little man had a far away, and on the jersey of the cooked weekdays, fearful, we can hear his child -mouthed intellect.

The deeply hidden silent man was unexpectedly knocked, and while he was hesitant, we were stuck on the chessboard of the capitalized life: that we should go where we should go or just happen to be happy and happy.