Stop thinking how many years have passed
You wait, count up, bro, how much is left.
Where has our magic gone?
Where has this joy of ours gone?
Black people do not disdain crows of blood,
Locals fly in different directions, in different directions.
There is either a steam up, or water through pipes,
It is too dense, but our world is very rough between the ruts,
And cut the devil and eat
Right now I'm among ignoramuses like myself,
Captivated by the hopes of being closer to heaven
I do not keep me in weightlessness.
There is no fear without feeling the speed I am falling,
Floor by floor through layers to collapse fell.
The coordinates are set, the autopilot is on,
Base reception, for what am I doomed to be human?
Pretended to be a cripple doctor
I notice in people what they think is not there.
But it's not a problem a windy character.
We hide under the crust and folded hands.
From boredom, children are indignant in the stairwells,
And it would be so familiar to give a kick for
That the whole entrance is full of bull-calves and hoods,
On young faces, scum froze.
I will repaint, it became pizzhe.
I make art from Vision,
In the corner, a dog licks a bone without exposing its back.
Be on the alert if you understand at least half of the speech,
The path is fleeting and dangerous for those who are clear only one dick,
But we are the strongest we will conquer
We will win, we will win
Base reception, base answer.
Why am I doomed to be a man among these
