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footprint poem

sobre os rooftops compita as sombras das nuvens
a algum os deuses gordos
seu cabelo bonito
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
eu ganhei a raça
traga-me a canção macia
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
têm você não ouvido
ainda treze anos
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
havia um momento em anos anteriores
ido antes de nós
trançado e tecido

 



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