Each day is ours.
However somebody destroys it to us.
But they masks their sorrows in alcohol
I coyais food but in made I am rather bursting.
To die is not a sacrifice it is a sorrow in moin.
To let live an other person.
It is more than perfect.
When one knows the acts which one makes.
The laughter is a gift.
That people do not have.
Old the animal is the old one perfect.
One dies because people one enough of us.
As we have ourselves enough of them.
Two pairs.
Two thought.
But the same race.
Mankind is really idiotic.