Molt, molt, at first it was silent until love is dumb ....
And surprise people, seeing the dumb moves, became infamous flood of questions without stopping if it was so miserable he or she so hurt, that if because of scorn or Blind faith: the child will talk when he pleases, and when her man back not find women.
molt was so dumb, I could not even smile: dry and thin, puffy and dumb, dedicated to agonize. Without knowing how it has been trapped in a huge purple spiral where not walk more than nostalgia and sleeplessness. Dumb, dumb, so dumb, argued with relentless memories to draw his head steady and irrevocable sentence: you do not want, does not return, on his lips there is no urgency.
not be silly, shorty, love that no one dies and one day you have to talk. The homing instinct is something that comes and goes, and the stories are lies because there is nothing princes. The secret is to look around kissing frogs, because frogs and always remain just serve to fill the illusion warts. Oh that dumb, dumb, dumb girl who does not want to talk.
still moves, the moves, made a prune young children. Walking and breathing, but died on the inside of waiting. That the cure to the move, not let them be Anna Karenina or Marie Duplessis, arms extended and so open to achieve eternity, how to love no one dies if the poor can not talk?
all were wrong, in fact, since the move was not so dumb, would not stop screaming. The broken heart has grown tired of screaming. When it was dumb, the dumb, believed in love, now the blow is so accurate that broke the reverie. Mute, mute, silent. Now you know the truth.
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