Silence never scratched, but only covered with rock 'n grill, overnight, learn from the death of peace and tranquility, and learn from life a run for daily vitality ...
rush a little on the way to heaven ash, burnt wood and smoke up the chimney, the road for the winter is yet to begin, when the eternal turning is still the thought that with a drop, with or without a peaceful, gives a little 'rainbow. An architect who does not know it draws the curve, I, I pay his skill, I wonder if a reason, if one exists. It matters little, in front of the event, which is the cause, if not surprising, perhaps is a consequence. I speak not alone, helpless under the blanket of stars, preferring only the croaking of frogs audir nell'afosa evening when the barking, which differs from the song of Orpheus, breaks the sleep, even the most plebeian, compromising 'the delight of Morpheus. But what does it matter to strange gods of other worlds? What matters is that even the blade sank into the night, full of quiet thoughts, to which all power is given, including of non-interference, including that of knowing how to rock, including that of knowing how to listen, to console. Including that of being able, by you, you get ...
Carlo
