** by
When I am an old aunt,
And the wicked will,
In the nightmarish slopes,
And also slightly,
When I walk I will be with a stick,
Shaking your nose,
with an old wiped blade
On the head instead of the hair.
I will be squeezed,
In the irony of fate,
My long-awaited foolish prince,
My genius of pure beauty.
He only looks at me in the mid-eye.
The love dust will disappear.
I say to him: infection!
The Paddle! Where have you been before...?
And he, putting his jaw in a glass,
Breathe or breathe... or Icnet:
It is silent: my beauty!
He falls to his feet like a bullet.
I went to you with torment,
I did stupidly,
I dug gold and stones,
and gathered knowledge.
Now you are worthy!
Now, Princess, it is all yours!
Oh, old bald stupid warrior!
So what do we do, my?? to