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Sun on the horizon
It smells like ecstasy.
The poor child is being established with his dreams,
Loneliness smells.
In a tiny town
The difference arises.
Then
sadness at dawn
It goes down to his neck.
All he knows is hit the wood ax
And more
To dream the daughter of the noble in the barn
In the time left over from poverty.
Is the world just dark for him?
Or
Was it a bigot, as urbaner say?
No no it was not at all
It was as his father said,
They were running under the whip of the angry bully they breathlessly all day long.
So why was he still not happy?
If they're the machine and this child if is a human.
Would he be a purposeless child?
Neither doctor nor lawyer wanted to be an architect
The boy just wanted to laugh.
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