I do not feel it coming.
I've never succeeded.
not notice the forest and our animals, the rest of us do not. For us it is normal that the earth, from time to time, falter, and we realize it only when the noise occurs. That noise, a black diamond that has no name in our languages, the voice of ' Orcolat .
And our grandmothers did not cry, no, we are thrown into small children to move towards the corners the room, away from the center, away from the stairs. Far, far away from the stairs! (Shir hamaalot .) We cover their heads with a shawl and waddle, waddle along with the house, country, everything. The small country rocks under the shawl her grandmother.
What next? After
, nothing. What May 6 was no longer seven. Jackals are plenty in the rubble. Journalists moving the dead, our dead, to include a greater amount in the frame. Menie was seven years old, lay in the arts alongside Nute and Stiefin - posture desperate, I would recommend - also used the lightning, now the blood is coagulated, not a reflex. Mr does not miss the tasty opportunity to exploit our dead for political purposes. The high priest wants two billion to say Mass in the cathedral, will be restored as soon as this (we lost it all, we sleep in the beautiful star, but you have to rebuild the churches and pray to the Lord.)
What next?
Then start again. With silent trowels. We
has done so.
And you, the Land of the Rising Sun?
You know, you, your dead, here, used to sell bags?
I've never succeeded.
not notice the forest and our animals, the rest of us do not. For us it is normal that the earth, from time to time, falter, and we realize it only when the noise occurs. That noise, a black diamond that has no name in our languages, the voice of ' Orcolat .
And our grandmothers did not cry, no, we are thrown into small children to move towards the corners the room, away from the center, away from the stairs. Far, far away from the stairs! (Shir hamaalot .) We cover their heads with a shawl and waddle, waddle along with the house, country, everything. The small country rocks under the shawl her grandmother.
What next? After
, nothing. What May 6 was no longer seven. Jackals are plenty in the rubble. Journalists moving the dead, our dead, to include a greater amount in the frame. Menie was seven years old, lay in the arts alongside Nute and Stiefin - posture desperate, I would recommend - also used the lightning, now the blood is coagulated, not a reflex. Mr does not miss the tasty opportunity to exploit our dead for political purposes. The high priest wants two billion to say Mass in the cathedral, will be restored as soon as this (we lost it all, we sleep in the beautiful star, but you have to rebuild the churches and pray to the Lord.)
What next?
Then start again. With silent trowels. We
has done so.
And you, the Land of the Rising Sun?
You know, you, your dead, here, used to sell bags?
0 comments:
Post a Comment