Vanishing point: personal altar, less art, more contents, more...to know about secrets to be sweet; my alter ego, the maniac dragged me through supermarkets and department stores, up and down, played on a piano directly adjacent the juice bar, glass elevator, special offers a madman has thrown himself down in mountain climbing outfit, loaded his gun and fired at the bargain hunters' children, wheel reflectors in a 10 pack, own child chased out the door because it got dirty; lashing the waistband together, eyes pinched together, tightly blinded by the light, illuminated, out of the city, the meadow, a tree, the entire landscape, the stars daylight flashlights of a hundred thousand watts
You can't get enough, you are an angel, and I desire nothing but to hate you
Translation: Mark Kanak for Cricket Online Review
