It is time, Halle!

on a small island I bury the key. It is here for the wind to pick. The true story of this little bowl is the story on the lips of madam Deleuil, let us now hear it from the real field: In a small box, i laid a bet, right there on the left side of your planet, planet which you own and truely respect, which I dishonour by the mouth of the jail keepers in this work of horror, says your cop friend protecting the unwired mind off the territory of the King Dollar. They are not so clever clever but the shout, beware, they fear the fairy and believe the clowns are gods to the politicians, my mind was born here but the man is the snail, the sistery marc of the royal beggars advances solemn to the lip that called in, the winds of love and fraternity. the mine of mine is held here, the territory revendicates the night sounds, the wired cops, the shopper train, the night bargaining on gogmahag, the red dragon in the shape of a tattoo....only. These stories are for kids and the law protects you from the beleif in something as crazy as un-newsed. Law and Order, Zed, shouts she from Trets, law where, pupils my eye, lashes to hair and I cut another arm of the wife bandit, preferred by the public for fault of imprisonment or corerct regulating of this word, telepathy. See, the new rock is taken to the sea. at the botto lays the flexydisc, grab on to my throat again, police of Canadian Justice, I am free to kill but too crazy to admit that the people in jail are there too. Belief in a mirror unreal, believ, belief in this: Yopu are the TAXI. The road is sent for free with your first installment so long as our contracts are resigned in NYC but underlined and clicked as received in parliament of Ottawa since 2003. We are wide in the city, the label prints: NO ARTIST. The snail dreams of wings, beg, man of war, the maid is kept in my house: i am the Golden Crab. the aleph awakes by the side of a naked bird, a cuckoo-doodle froo, I swear, let me out of the zone. The person you look for is in the back of the auditorium, being touched and sucked on like in Alanis old song, but hey, beware, i am now the viper, a bird is there to prove me danger, to call a lawyer and sign my ex-wife into a barrister, Ted is gone, ted is gone, Ted is gone. I am synthetical and exasperating to her too, on my flap, by the sea, in India, 2002, the picture is there too, but the polite policing of our record of employment prevents privacy agreements to recall the T word. Think again, in the sea, I take you by the time you are asleep, the keys are winded to eretn. i am an actor, not a rebel, she scands, the bar is open again on the corner of Palace Maiden tell themm to wait by the box on the fourth line. I will call from Geneva or Thailand....or Studio Troppo, L.A sex symbol on the back of the auditorium, who is not missed...The french kisses.