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captain! There are things that.
In Glasgow, there's a sea that flows, on the faces a purple-black hue. Drinking companions.
Socializing assaults you and beer accompanies us: bold, dirty, low in alcohol.
The sea enters London and kneels to the alienated multi-cultural grandeur.
The screams remain trapped inside the carcasses, more or less human,
and the threshold of pain has become indissoluble steel between the cracks made by a sigh.
The singularity disappoints, fierce is the pack, before crossing the street where do you look?
Right or Left?
Anarchy has no measure.
Votes, faces, values, nobody gifts them to you.
BrutaRaza
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