Kitabı oku: «Collection of A.S.L», sayfa 3

nev!

The end.

Poetry Corrupt

A corrupt official, like a pioneer.

Always rushing to the rescue.

With an envelope, bubonic plague.

Poop

I'm sitting in the toilet.

Poop one,

poop two.

What a beautiful toilet – said the Poop.

The end.

A pot of honey

There may be more than honey in the pot.

But also marmalade and chocolate.

Every kid will be happy.

Feast

Legs under the table.

Someone in socks.

And someone in sandals.

Feasting, a busy day.

Corpses

The smell is stinking, corpses.

They are cut into pieces.

All without heads.

Only the screeching of life brightens the way.

But we eat them alive.

They are round, delicious for our mouths.

We put them on the food.

Their life is fading in our stomachs.

God is our judge, for the killed eggs.

Hacker

At night, under the moon.

Hacker, got into my seal.

I'll start typing.

He's right there.

Then it will force you to write from a new line.

Then it will mix up, all the words are for me.