Our mornings are full of plastic words flying on waves over roads. We put our best clothes on and share points of view with a sweet kick.
My afternoon sells you a five - minutes - dream cooked till cat falls all over your legs. Our writings keep calm riding lemons with shouted deaf answers.
Your nights gave up in front of the sea that never existed at the living room and the doors were opened by a hundred of lovely hippopotamus born in anger.
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