ESL Blogs

Pull respect, sweet heart,

These tears are the blood cost of my life gone.

My heritage, not lucky draw, not to order custom, I've registered all in honor of your eyes, in your name. Sealed with fire cigarettes blessed curse.

Inscription reader of old tribes, This is the story of a child that He could not come to any branch of dreams even on his toes. He fell asleep hungry all nights. his heart did not know how and why. Starvation was the condition survival for the kind of tribal ritual, So cry for me refreshing, for the heart that was weeping to dumping horse of his lying history book, and Was singing the mathematics in majestic symphony of Multiplication table with his classmates. 2*2=4 3*3=9 4*4=16 5*5=….

At age 11, stepped in wondering world of shoes, with his bald hair and a big coat which was longer than his knees, with smell of bad stump burner and oil and old sweat.

Yeah, sweet heart, these tears are the blood cost of my life gone. sweet heart, These tears are the blood cost of my life gone.

My heritage, The story of a man who is anointed and fascinated by the magic of book to know and know and know.

Then I left my maternal tenderness and cradle at all, and white dog of my security got dark in forgetfulness, and I forgot my pigeons and I have been going and going and going to know to know to know from a page to a page, from a face to a face, from a day to a day, from a city to a city, under the sky of a home which in it only death was shared equally.

I've registered all in honor of your eyes, Sealed with fire cigarettes blessed curse, which bursts holes of my lung one by one to start countdown for this Aimless purpose. From a word to a word and one by one I died on this aimless purpose.

Respect of thyme was enough for me, moonlight for me, smile for me and thyme was revere of your eyes, wasn't it? So I knot the heart to enshrine of the thought that song the thyme.

Christ wasn't on the cross in Joljota, And Lorka wasn't volleyed in Granada at green nights of pines and moonlight.

Yeah, one by one I died for awareness from a page to a page to tie up my heart to enshrine any idea who wrote thyme. 

Pull respect, sweet heart, The tears which were the blood cost of my life gone.

I've brought my complain to my court, that's all. No, No, don't be afraid of my atheism, don't be afraid, I never be infidel because I believe in "I don't know" Human and no conflict!?

Imprinted crocks in Heritage rooms, light mysticism with mint flavor. I doubt in the song that a prisoner and warder whisper at the same time.

Then I continue a man's life who was nobody, Although if he wasn't, the world wouldn't be able to keep its balance, like that tree that is standing under rain. Look at it like that crow, like that house, like that shadow. We are selected by fate and chance. Equator of being and not being, I've gotten stuck in the age of wave and light storm. I involved with figures, Magic rectangles Magic squares.

I cried innocence of Adam in this window, I got mad others madness, Arafat in football stadium, I talked about cow psychosis in Sharown cabinet, I grazed the flock in this window, I was king with a shaved head and ability of managing two wives, I didn't comb my hear because I was poor and had wife and children, I comb my hear to left or right due to make my cousin fall in love with me, I climbed a wall with the miracle of a kid with a fog in his pocket, I auctioned all my mysteries together, I got buffoon with the nose of Pinocchio and astragalus plant on my head instead of my hear.

Yes, sweet heart, Pull respect These tears are the blood cost of my life gone.

The story of man who was nobody, And always was crying, with no time to think of his avarices. Till that who cries me and till when, And dies in what coterie.

Yes, sweet heart, tough sheet me, And think of tomorrow sun that will rise for you,

Saying hello with The aroma of thyme.