Lonely people read me, anxious
Breathing makes me sick; They picked up
Books are like picking up your own organs.
This hot night is full of pain.
They used me to yell at the upright flowers,
Call god chicken dog piece speechless,
Shame on those who look disgusting,
I went to a brothel pharmacy,
Dealing with men and women,
Satire a tyrant and talk about a bad year;
The stars in the sky shouted, "Burn me!"
The water in Prague cries, "Give me the wise man."
Tombstone Silence: Reading me is killing me.