The Meadow grass has songs that every day I've tried to discover. The Royal Oak dances with the World rhythms, the girl runners describe dizzy lanes in the lack of gravity.
They told me that the winter would be harder that this nice eternal spring. I don't know, the Spanish people are used to sunny days that we wait every dark wintry dawn, but I'm sure that this long time every theater, every pub and every freezing parc inspire ideas, songs, books and everything will be in my heart without dim step of my pronuntiation.
Sanchez Gordillo, traveler across the prickle of powerfuls: Deceitfully of criminal frontpage, sad food of the poor people who are devoted to leftovers, threat the fighter who forgot his own welfare. Sometimes, the remoteness alleviates the sight of the madness of the given beings
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