resistant to identify

Resistant to Identify

Slowly I returned to my senes. The rusty unused voice began another narrative.

Where a thought expires is an idea, behind the last breath of joy another

dream in which the two parts of my life were brought together at last. I

open my eyes wide, but it does no good: I merely see. But the secret

noticed that Snow White and Darth Vader were circulating there,

therefore she didn't tell anything to anyone. If she had spoken,

forced to stage a première of his work at a nonsense-concert,

they didn't want to die of passion. Plenitude is one of the

rings and rings and rings. Perhaps she is resting up after

escargots and chicken with truffles. What do you

give a fuck if his son could tell whether somebody's

city will come in with inspectors and cops and

you taught me language, and my profit on ’t

would become a small metropolis one day?