Contarct

Daemon is crunching the clock
He repeats everything – Dork
He wants us to give up
And “live ourselves in luck”
What’s the matter with school
Words are not beautiful
Henry likes when it is cruel
This what make judges duel
I died only once. Jesus fired.
What a lovely American Institute
Who likeS the Harward
It is filled with the English
Nor Russian. My dream
My Reality object.
Irritating poem – this could be a joke
Why do you want them
Mixed in a germ
Quartet a blooming the father
Speak near Victory – Term
You’ll see what drama it is.
When there is no God in this trio
And this who pretends to be higher
Makes President a liar
“I need you George Gordon
Byron. I’m obsessed what you say.”
Ok. The day and night
They both good
But light makes no difference
In my blood.