You can talk in different languages, different ways, while u can hardly be sure of sb. That’s it.
The city becomes dark but not dark, lights maintain nearly 24hours, Edison didn’t want that happen maybe. You see cars running, everybody moving, imagine the invisible and vivid life, suddenly can feel sad and helpless. How poor the souls are, struggling in no-fresh-breath. And u hear the noise, feel the low light with yellow smoky mood, typing here.
Moonspell’s guitare is good.
Why people feel relaxed when they really tearing.
You walk on the road, platanna dressing the street by sides, they like don’t know wut’s going on here, the leaves like waving but no. You still alone.
Wut u want? Even after really been to every corner. And see what? People fitz away.
I’m going to pick up.