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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-01-31 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
Little John is dead and he doesn't care.
Mr. Einstein has a sponge bath with turtles all around. I heard you like white wine. Bela Lugosi's son is eating crackers and watches the sun set in a David Lynch soap opera. Nothing more but laziness and post-modernism. Paintings with blue and female nudes in the living-room. I like Chopin mixed with The Doors on a Sunday evening. Let's travel together to Las Vegas and get married. Wife and son, mother and uncle, girl and boy. We are all alike in the Hungarian Dance, on a melody's high heels. Bela Lugosi's son is drinking white butterflies and writing last autumn's poems. On your neck, in your mind, while we become REM midnight lovers.
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