Every night a city sleeps.
No protocol, no language
A world can understand.
By his own hand,
Be dammed the consequence such barren land.
The plains of Kyrenia,
Apollo, Aphrodite,
How rich the excavated Cypriot
Brings milatry junta
Five miles west of nine stars to a five.
Rainbow steps from here to somewhere else.
What dies where sleeps all still alive,
So ends so here begins another day
Talking culture through the soft veins of a heart.
It is June but still the lovers bark and crawl.
A lovers shawl of defensive chain and ball.
A ballad for the gloom before I sleep.
What portrait this I paint beyond the stars?
My riches yours to sail to seven rocks,
un-godly hours fickle as we are
Lay me aside in the chorus of a dawn.
I am idle. I am lame.
I have pulled a million flowers
From lovers lane to where walks Portrait d\'une Femme.
There is nothing here quite like my own.
One dull man. dull. oxorious;