Witches' Way bends into the Nothing

Many times you need adolescent, naive-kids, and you can say that they can understand better. You are already knocking on tiny cobblestone stones in your childhood memories, stigma frenzhes; With your hands in the past, the disgusted harams, critics, reach out to you, whether you are still the hysterical, frightened, intimate kid who's been forty?!

Sleeping icebergs feel petty, revenge-thirsty thoughts in the depths of human-hearts; They can think of a lasting, full melting again, the fate writes a loop and endless to what happened, and then Jásznyi shows him a nice flick. It is as if you knew that you are stepping out of your volatile time, which is why I miss you so much for yourself.

The serpentine paths of the unknown life continue their journey in the far distance, and it would be so good if someone still had a hand in the eternal child who you are. Now your whole creature has been like that as a well -tired climber who stops hesitantly at the foot of the mountains, and you can still wait if you intend to march to the uncertain ...

You may build stairs into the void with your selfish will, and while the big mixed theater is getting outside; It becomes a wolf, a Pondro-worm, and become-you are still trying to stay yourself as a stoic, passive resistance, not too long to panic.

The hopelessness of the Sanda-Hidden Tomorrow is already panting in our neck. The path of the fate is just stumbling on their own lame, and while the chirping-up bird drawers go to heaven, our junky black crumbling princes stick to our neck!