O women’s poetry to whom the word should be pronounced when the nib shot, stuck on the door-key.
And also to the foot of the street has been asked to immediately arrive at the front of a painting of the living, because the liver is the language of honesty question, or I stay dust diceruk your eyes!
O women’s poetry, so pat seven boys die in your hands. And the city is burning, gedunggedung collapse, children choked river that flows toward the sea, and the fire of anger puingpuing batangbatang the merangas melt.
And the season has given khabar that the word should be in the wake before the sun blew up your breasts!
O women’s poetry, on the lush full moon light eyes have been implied in the mengema dzikirdzikir sin fly ash, which we express are like Adam and Eve story written for our own