.
Talks us the greek legend, about the hero Calais and his blond imprudence...
The taxidermist can find much material referred to his profession near to the boscages. Near to the boscages...
...Baby the rain of September don't understand us: baby i adore you, do the rain adore you as i do?
I adore your wet tee, and what's underneath too. Baby ¿do you understand me?
Baby let me masturbate you slowly in the rain of July, baby, baby...
Baby let your lips masturbate me slowly under the rain of June, just love the long shaft with your tender lips profound, until make me blow baby; baby...
You can realize when a car comes from UK because of his blond prudence: are the english greek ones? The desperation of the magpies flying towards Dover for milk and putrid maize: the magpies of Calais, oh yeah!
The biorrhythms of time had carved its neuronal patina on the red trees in, Calais...
Continental baby: you are the bread i eat and the sword that crucifies me against the land: see my blood running to Le Pas.
Woman of flesh and spiced smokes; lady of the one thousand rivers: i love you, oh yeah!
Aegean, gypsy or hungarian; i love your slavonic eyes, your imperfect nose ¿why do i love you?
If you're just spiced smokes! Why do i love you? Why do i love you? If you are
...insane...
I'm infatuated and you play with me as is due for a skyey gypsy of charming cheekbones. Evil woman don't play your games with me, don't decipher, no! The entrails of the magpies of.
...Calais.
Listen to my automatic and lascive blues: i'm a nowhere man; a good british, a bad spaniard and the worst of the french ones:
...At night?: The black trucks replete with english milk, shine like leather along the wet tunnel...
And butter for the isles...
Baby don't listen to my obsessive blues: have you ever seen the banshees of milk focus their lanterns of lovesun on the strabic magpies' eyes?
...In the middle of the midday their sun it's so Koleston...
Baby listen to my dense biosphere blues: it's for you; for your slavonic eyes; for your imperfect nose.
Because the trees had carved its neutrinic eye on the biorrhythms of time; in Calais.
...And talks us the greek legend about...
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