akmenī, vannā ar HIM un hurmu un čipsiem un fucking Napoleonu, kaut kur jāiet, bet pofig, Ville nelaidīs un negribu tāpat
sailing on the tips of my hair, maiden fair, shall you be there amidst the bleeding dawn unfairly quick to burn in splended glory, Sun king, tell celestial stories of the shore across the pale! oh, please lead upon a steady wake of tale of how the flaming incandescance self-combusts to never fail upon a shore of ashes, morbid, rotten gutts of broken mountains spurting fountains of despair that must prevail! oh, radiance incredible, pervasive, upliftingly appealing to the glint of eyes so self-revealing, dealing most peculiar feelings, longingly prolonged and strong to prove no wrong in mere believing. upon the waves and caresses a sailing soul confesses unto the darkest light of gaping eyes still gazing at amazing multitudes of flames that gather blazingly upon the glee of your impending ecstasy of pure annihilation, and blindly, yet so patient, in thoughts forlorn I do anticipate the adoration of body, heart and soul, so lowly born, so burn and burn, turn us turn, a flame into the darkness! hail!