Uncultivated grain gardens across the horizon
In the enchanted stream of the enchanted hill
That time still cornered on the balcony
Peace is at heart sometimes
In the light of believing the truth or not
Even today the deck of existential existence
World humanity
Where people are tools
Death is the game of death
The wall where the tragic non-water of tragic deprivation Non-water
Breathing where waiting with a red card
When faith becomes unbelief
Then a question arises
Mora has been able to be human.
On the shelf of dreams
We are all cheating
I am Cheating anybody is cheating
If this is the way to go
There is no obstacle to speaking loudly Then.
All the waterfall-dried leaves are painful
The autobiography disappears by itself
Happiness is so something
Come back to your own home.
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