Plump-trained flock of pigeons

  
  From the torn stillness of nights it rips with a thunder, A capricious edge, a wide tear of memory's storms! Rust-resistant, twisted honey-coloured pitch bubbles, While from the distance some forlorn desert of stone Seems to rise and rise in search! Purple Sisyphean rocks teach patience, and mature silence for themselves, To prophet-wise, and to those who pass through themselves!

Sunyin yet flaps the end-shadow of the red-skinned skeleton-sidereptile, declaring war on the screeching flocks of ravens! Let the well-known, acute or even trivialised lies begin: the obligatory, preaching holy commandment of saving lives, and unworthy, reengineered echo-songs that the mouldy plaster on the walls of our health care system is getting more and more rotten, and the cracks in the wards are growing! - We can only rarely count on the kind attention of our mortal, and therefore evolving, brother states! 

A swarm of pigeons, falling from low heights, splashes over our heads, and some would sell the final product for sweets, if it were all that could be gained by the deliberate explosion of sound they themselves create, to enliven their wealth, the truth they have dripped is clogged up! The proliferation of idiotic, idiotic exceptionalism in a self-expanding space is incomprehensible; idiotic constructions should be replaced by stable and balanced production instead of the brainlessness of oligarchs! 

Caravan routes often suck in the lost man if he is not careful! Self-righteously, who can still dare to swing stubbornly confidently in people's tin-can ring cannot remain in his honesty!