The Dance of Flickering Flame Language
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The Killer of BeautySometime when I walk through the park I halt my viewSo I do not waste it on the beautiful scenery of natureAs I am the killer of beauty. When I resume it I know that I willSend to death a rose budBouquet of mimosa or from the tree topsRed bunches of grains hang in abundanceFrom thin wigs irresistibly flailing in their beauty.And so, now I observe out of a blue vase on the tableThose red bunches hang slowly dying for meThe killer of beauty.
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Bol
The Killer of BeautySometime when I walk through the park I halt my viewSo I do not waste it on the beautiful scenery of natureAs I am the killer of beauty. When I resume it I know that I willSend to death a rose budBouquet of mimosa or from the tree topsRed bunches of grains hang in abundanceFrom thin wigs irresistibly flailing in their beauty.And so, now I observe out of a blue vase on the tableThose red bunches hang slowly dying for meThe killer of beauty.
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The Killer of BeautySometime when I walk through the park I halt my viewSo I do not waste it on the beautiful scenery of natureAs I am the killer of beauty. When I resume it I know that I willSend to death a rose budBouquet of mimosa or from the tree topsRed bunches of grains hang in abundanceFrom thin wigs irresistibly flailing in their beauty.And so, now I observe out of a blue vase on the tableThose red bunches hang slowly dying for meThe killer of beauty.
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