You wake up one morning and think (remember to think, what a wonderful thing):
- think you slightly more, more like the dreams of others, that centuries and centuries before, or just the other month and render the reading as a vortex tango (left foot right-left)
- think you squirm between air full of sensuality (the art of give pleasure) and air of innocence ft. French elegance, with great ease and harmony (see under eurythmy )
- think you could inform you more, offend and put on the bench even more what you think
- think you could eat more film (it?)
- think you could rape even more a piano duo, breaking the old biancoetnero
- think you might pay more attention to old and new groups, antediluvian and bold young of music, songwriting, rock or classical or
- think you might mess even more pictures, canvases, pieces of glass and faces
- think that you could decorate the body of snapshots, opposes the use of tinsel made in Fizzy
- think you could write and reaches the saturated pulse for the joy
- think you'd feel small next to something you built in a time Nonso
- think you'd be making love only those who truly thee friend with a face and an odor friend. None of bumped
- think you'd be a monkey in another life that goes straight to heaven
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