We are pierced by milk like servants of furrows.
Cadaverous psalms leave our bodies undressed as pickled societies armored with the appearances of bloodhound continents.
Bad sirens orbits our goods as we unbutton the sleep.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
We are pierced by milk like servants of furrows.
Cadaverous psalms leave our bodies undressed as pickled societies armored with the appearances of bloodhound continents.
Bad sirens orbits our goods as we unbutton the sleep.