IT WOULD NOT BE ALL

Only the zigzagging, then the fearfully bursting proud rocket nozzle light flies briskly into your room, and the cell lattice-smelling shadows also spin to dance with it. Shapes and rich colors really proliferate and seem fuller and richer, but the dream now also likes the mocked Reality, which disappoints, mocks, or places new burdens on the shoulders of the simple man every day. Now the gala, nonsense World are still lying about fairy ball darids, let the mortal man rejoice, let them be terrified just calmly back on the closed doors even the trouble-sorrow, the weight of uncertain tomorrow.

And while millions of glowings teach many manipulable parades and circuses, the wiser one thinks one by one, chews the drunken memories of his past, his debatable earthly things! Where to where? And how at all, how next? By January, the postman will knock the yellow checks again, the plumber will come. Are organic waste containers taken away at all?!

It was as if intentional fog-blur was stifling man. He lurks on the walls of the flats, creeps into the tiny buzz of servants, where fairy-tale monsters lurk and search. Carious secrets are still being preserved for fear! The eyes betray and deceive the man one by one, as it would be so good to believe that tolerant prosperity is possible, lost in a cryptographic world, like blind worms, somehow we can still stand it, but for how long?!

Teenagers poison themselves with sunny evening-harmful evening pills with toxic spirits, each cherishing hibernating imaginary pink intoxication, while failing to have a light-hearted hope of advanced graduation or prosperity for the future.

It is a light-swallowed, bleak countryside, like frozen prehistoric conditions. Atonement - fearful - can rarely come!