SPARROWS ARE CHIPPING

I've known for a long time. They are no longer looking for or inviting to the acid shower of love and friendship. Among the scurrying creatures, the memories of the homely past became a shadow. The sediment of a life that says nothing can get stuck inside at any time, and the distorted apple-coil handshakes and calculating promises are only good for someone to understand: mud-slinging is going on here at all levels.

Huge, aching blindness is a useless fate even for faces that constantly want to ask. Unanswered, the decaying city flings itself, jumps, and tumbles among lofty wrecks and pseudo-prophets resplendent in its shortcomings.

The tired forehead squeezes out pain, but also a dull indifference. From here on down, it's quite difficult to continue, because those who take it upon themselves to release their Golgotha-torment boldly end up dead-white in the noise of some deserted street.

Insultingly loud gasps are still heard when the late realizations of this current tumultuous world no longer spare anyone. The hours and minutes tick irreparably from shame and defiance escapes, no one has yet made a secure living for themselves, nor a greedy career.

The wound of mental stigma pours bitter honey when it is spied on through secretly taken nags. The Spirit is scratching more and more sadly in many people, who still felt that in exchange for cheap fees and annuities, they began to get by stuck outside the circle, while they no longer counted on anyone else. The big, smelly nothing, like a special pile of shit, opens its mouth, and if the person doesn't have enough food left, it immediately swallows it!