Friday, August 13, 2010

Russıan Naturıst Movıe

One, Nobody, One hundred thousand.

The endless play, lost in a random universe as possible.




donut If Genesis I faa Puetia a little of everything,

spazzèn, astronaut and magütt

I prick up the last mile for el muund

innàanz and Indre Cume el mercury in the thermometer ...


Sun naa soe in the Loen

duma cun'ti occ

I shot cuntra el teemp

and I desfàa the urelòcc

I prayed thousand voolt without nà giò in Genocchi

I turned around and smoking cun't el pee biùtt PEEIs de piöcc ...


M'è Tuca learns that turns it Roed

that sometimes if sprawled büceer el de la bira

between furtöena scarogna gh'è and a rope that pulls

quaand that pica el el el diavuli Ciapa aim ...


Sun Staa the anvil, and what the time el martell

I listened to the heart, and what time al'üsèll

in the mouth of the guitar I scondüü

this life is in the page Russian quii scrivüü pencil ...


El curtèll a man and a bunch of nell'oltra fiuu

because amuur and the henn moorti always scundüü

each dè ships via a cun basen or pesciàda

cul de destèn DREE shoulder

for mulàmm 'na bastonàda


And she gives her all my regòrdi de el surìis

hip cun nissöena if the sun rüvaa benììs

many women in that satchel gh'eren Shah el havens

concomitantly to loose the cicatriis rusètt hann ...


Scapàvi e inseguivi senza mai ciapà fiaa

curiàndul nel veent…fiuu senza un praa

una trottùla mata sempre in gir senza sosta

un boomerang ciùcch senza mai una risposta…


Zìngher e sciuur sempre söel mè binari

suta un’alba e un tramuunt püssèe rùss del Campàri

ma i ricordi i hènn smagg

e me spècia el dumànn

el me spècia incazzàa cun scià i buumb a màn…


Sigarètt senza Nommo and no history büceer

hann faa the strange doodles in my memory

tattoos invisibility me càgnen de knuckle

Cume a tirade and a life of scotch ... nastru


My ciciaràda lax el teemp that tröeva

Vardi cieel el de cun nuvembra his Loen Noeva

el Genesio and begging the sun is all ...


cun any capacity whatsoever,

suta ... sun ... biùtt



La Balada of Genesio - Davide VanDeSroos
in their souls, many of us look like Genesio ...
Andrea.

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