.
I saw...
I haven't.
A dog to bark.
To me.
On the paranoia of the city, over neverending highways, while your legs go becoming every time longer and your crowned head almost touches the clouds; I see all the sadness in its cruelty and its blue.
And the demonic haze of Endor, my sweet good; and a little aroma like of eau de Cologne:Buenos Aires and all of the azure-neon orphanage...I threw you a paradox, and your stupefied face didn't understand it...
Among the blue cars and the burning autotrols in green fire of July.
When the cold of July is more grey and the mist hides the naked fantasms in the paved stones' streets.
Like an aroma of...my sweet good.
So.
One day, I did wake up; lonely in Europe.
In a world.
And a word...
And lonely is the word.
.
