You have clean hands.
You don\'t hide.
I can read your signs.
The rising violence
makes the rich tombs. You
stand like a Buddha.
From the ashes, you
can build a Homer\'s Troy.
I will not visits the site.
The legacy of moon
suffers. The doormats become
rich. Why fake daddies?
A brain stops midway
in jungle of no words.
You want to sing.
You are scared of me
for receiving the gifts.