Forget every other holiday.
Things series have yet to come.
Here, you, you had a place for my new year? You made my party hearty food, juice, essence water with liquor, not at all stale blood, and finally everything was there.
Colors maybe not fair, the music might not crucial to the success of the meetings. But
, piled like a pebble in the crevices of a heel old, has led me to dance innate elegance, our bodies, arched arcades old nell'orlo we painted the night. Yet
not your fault: mica really know me. No, I could. No, I think, will.
However, your school is not, merely disprezzabil improvisation that is not, I grant, but the dance with me knows how to be a long, exhausting. You will know hold up, you blow up, and parts?
I hope so, because I was good, more, dare I say, and maybe I should keep silent happy. Nothing else would say, to avoid dissonance that would ruin the notes.
Oh, well, I leave one, upbeat: remember us when our mouths hanging forget the time, do not calculate the grain.
Balla still with me, my liquor, and we will have an abundant harvest. Why
a year is just another set of days. Here comes again
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