Am I a gem wrapped in cotton balls,
or a worm, inside the flesh of an apple...

It makes no sense:
Who does play the music...

Windchill is howling in my veins,
as on the windows of these trains...

We are all shackled
within anywhere other...

Just losers brag and flag
their wining...

There are the freeze bees
Teasing me to sneeze...

Who he lights the lamp of your smiles
occasionally...

I dreamed of you at nights,
I sleepwalked you in the daylights...

I cannot live without you
without you by my side...

A pebble falls in the clear pond.
Corrosion withers when I look into your mirror...

It was always drilling in his brain,
_the woodpecker of the clock...

Write them on the sand
Don't carve your words on the rocks...