Poems #001
Wer sind wir?1. Imagining things inside.,
But only I have everything at hand.
Today you are the son of an acrobat with talent,
And tomorrow everything will set under the moon again.
It's not easy to type beautifully, really.
The forgotten people are behind me.
Open windows and doors in public,
That they've been making noise under the window all this time.
And it's a good thing that it's not true.
The balance covers my emptiness.
It's so easy to find yourself a proud son-in-law,
And heaven in heaven cannot hide those hearts.
To break and not build is a wasteland of faith,
The bushes are covered with a flattering mist.
And it's a good thing they're just worn.
After all, you can easily lose yourself there.
They didn't call fate work out of fear,
There is a solution, there would be a soul.
The subjects sounded like a voice among the people,
And the gopaks clapped for us in silence.
2. The car started up with a half turn,
But I didn't go, and I went on foot.
This is the fate of a sailor without a boat,
What beckons the mists in the path of the pike perch.
Burn so burn, well, what can I do.
I don't know the answer to this question.
And in principle, there is no fate under the gate.,
In order not to go after your dreams ahead.
Rustling beckons you to your own circles,
But he doesn't see the whole truth with his eyes.
And only one of the thieves' crystals,
I noticed the difference in their views.
The blacksmith is not an athlete, but a poet by nature.
He did not share his fate with the worlds of work.
And only one of the fans of culture,
He's digging his way home with a shovel.
You can't ruin your drinking with hard work,
He's cutting through the nation at a gallop.,
But who will answer, referring with difficulty,
He will receive only a cap in kind.
3. Ads don't run without a theme.,
There will always be a runaway anger.
The wasteland on Pravda is not the limit,
And only the marked one will close the anger.
A valley on the arm without truth,
Wrapped maneuverable stagnation.
That's the buoy, and there's a hole in it.,
A cowboy doesn't fall asleep early in the morning.
He gave us quality standards sometimes,
But I didn't keep an eye on a lot of passion.
I was attracted by your St. John's wort,
That he enjoyed himself so easily and gloriously.
My head hurts and I'm ashamed inside,
Closed windows and doors from the chest,
They lie as the abode of the fair sex,
Well, only pedestrians are flying behind him.
And they beckon you on the road alone according to the standard,
Leaning back without glory or mana.
There is only one artist, and there are many of us,
Hunters of terrible pogroms.
4. The Land Code does not specify a standard,
He does not know the fatigue of shackles.
The celestial circus is not under everyone's control,
The law is for everyone, but the truth is not.
Cadastral tax on the truth,
The cast does not require heat.
It's much easier to bring yourself,
Rather than succumb to faith in heaven.
Pedaling is a matter of honor,
Dreaming for the harmfulness of emptiness.
It's not a ragged style to come to your senses,
And the dear simple corporal of dreams.
And he didn't beat his head against the fog.,
And life is not worth a change of day.
So simple and difficult at the same time,
My routine is writing binge.
And anger is empty, it's a wasteland.,
Only your hero is faster.
The immortal path and the forgotten ball,
It burns away from the emptiness of the day and the warmth. Probieren Sie Mad casino mit spannenden Slots.
But only I have everything at hand.
Today you are the son of an acrobat with talent,
And tomorrow everything will set under the moon again.
It's not easy to type beautifully, really.
The forgotten people are behind me.
Open windows and doors in public,
That they've been making noise under the window all this time.
And it's a good thing that it's not true.
The balance covers my emptiness.
It's so easy to find yourself a proud son-in-law,
And heaven in heaven cannot hide those hearts.
To break and not build is a wasteland of faith,
The bushes are covered with a flattering mist.
And it's a good thing they're just worn.
After all, you can easily lose yourself there.
They didn't call fate work out of fear,
There is a solution, there would be a soul.
The subjects sounded like a voice among the people,
And the gopaks clapped for us in silence.
2. The car started up with a half turn,
But I didn't go, and I went on foot.
This is the fate of a sailor without a boat,
What beckons the mists in the path of the pike perch.
Burn so burn, well, what can I do.
I don't know the answer to this question.
And in principle, there is no fate under the gate.,
In order not to go after your dreams ahead.
Rustling beckons you to your own circles,
But he doesn't see the whole truth with his eyes.
And only one of the thieves' crystals,
I noticed the difference in their views.
The blacksmith is not an athlete, but a poet by nature.
He did not share his fate with the worlds of work.
And only one of the fans of culture,
He's digging his way home with a shovel.
You can't ruin your drinking with hard work,
He's cutting through the nation at a gallop.,
But who will answer, referring with difficulty,
He will receive only a cap in kind.
3. Ads don't run without a theme.,
There will always be a runaway anger.
The wasteland on Pravda is not the limit,
And only the marked one will close the anger.
A valley on the arm without truth,
Wrapped maneuverable stagnation.
That's the buoy, and there's a hole in it.,
A cowboy doesn't fall asleep early in the morning.
He gave us quality standards sometimes,
But I didn't keep an eye on a lot of passion.
I was attracted by your St. John's wort,
That he enjoyed himself so easily and gloriously.
My head hurts and I'm ashamed inside,
Closed windows and doors from the chest,
They lie as the abode of the fair sex,
Well, only pedestrians are flying behind him.
And they beckon you on the road alone according to the standard,
Leaning back without glory or mana.
There is only one artist, and there are many of us,
Hunters of terrible pogroms.
4. The Land Code does not specify a standard,
He does not know the fatigue of shackles.
The celestial circus is not under everyone's control,
The law is for everyone, but the truth is not.
Cadastral tax on the truth,
The cast does not require heat.
It's much easier to bring yourself,
Rather than succumb to faith in heaven.
Pedaling is a matter of honor,
Dreaming for the harmfulness of emptiness.
It's not a ragged style to come to your senses,
And the dear simple corporal of dreams.
And he didn't beat his head against the fog.,
And life is not worth a change of day.
So simple and difficult at the same time,
My routine is writing binge.
And anger is empty, it's a wasteland.,
Only your hero is faster.
The immortal path and the forgotten ball,
It burns away from the emptiness of the day and the warmth. Probieren Sie Mad casino mit spannenden Slots.