Dont ever think that you was born with different condition, all the people are same, all the people are shame, always make fool and fool again, people is a poor when try to be whore, try to be somebody else, who the hell are you people? Are you try to prove to the world that you are suck? Excuse you my friend, life is go on, burn us, buried us, then leave us on the loneliness, the real place to be happy, the real place to make us know who the hell we are, no more than dust in wind, fly over, fly over, the fade away...
I am the king of the high way, I pray on the top of the mountain, scream to the silly things which always come, buried my head on sand, flying gently like butterfly, quite on the silences like hurricane, I can see for a mile the melancholy wash of the setting sun, settle down the moon, on its way to the high seas the little blues farm boy following the lane, had desire to know how far away are the birds and the springs!
For a while I lean my elbows on the table, the lamp shines softly on these lovely book, I am fool enough to read again these stupid books, we just try to change a thing with a whisper, work hard a day just to get a mouthful of food, even momentarily for any failure to cry, mourn every step with doubt, but what you are looking for people? Imagine people on Ethiopia obvious world, I am the master of the silent, there no more word of patient, I had burn all of the passion, I will cry instead, the laughing more and more, people call me crazy whether I dont even know my self...
March, 06, 2012, Yogyakarta, 01:52