Wullien Thang

I want to travel to France
To visit the tower of Paris
The one people called so much Eiffel.
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It’s the feeling that you’ve been left behind
When you have fear to step onto the ground
Because you don’t want to leave your trace
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Through the huge crystal of the window
Where it fuses as a sliding door in the balcony
The orange-red-yellow windy light of sun
Enters into the hall from where the beach is calm
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The time where I wasn’t born yet
The time when the world was so beautiful
The time where I should be born
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There is the red-marron roof for peace
Where the end of the world lies on that hill.

My childhood is stored on the roof
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Hatred grown from below
Evil hatred getting bigger
Hatred emanated from bad fear
A fear that corrode the inside
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My love is never worthing anything
is a trash you can throw everywhere
I'm never worthing anything as a result
People think I'm sh't
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Poor my little dog
he likes to play, I don't have time
he wants to jump, bothers me
he wants to run, there's no space.
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An alternative time,
some different universe,
never known enough,
but like if always knew.
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Since i arrived, they were so happy
One sweeping, the other too
so helpful, so precious
One didn't kept his look away
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After all, I've felt some freedom
the free spirited mind that travels world
being amazed with all the new
living every moment on the edge.
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He is a bear man,
who takes out his liver,
and put bees in his pants.
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Maybe I'm not what people like
I don't have what people wants
I'm not even at least what I want.
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He was dancing with her
watch her dancing was so pretty
he was so cute, incredibly
An old woman with a little kid
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Toss a coin into the wishing well
And make a wish
No one’s going to get something of it
Because it’s a lot of minutes
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Hard to relieve
Too soon to be true
It was always a lie
You were never gone
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With the going on of the years
things will become petty
all those things that made us suffer
all those which we worried about
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Pain, bruises, hits, beating
If I never learn, I'll never gain
the most desolate solitude
Fear, and everything is still the same
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A slow swift of hair,
carries the sweet smell of cigarettes.

The smell of smoke,
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Try a little control on a twitch
turns into a pressure, into a deep scratch
nails digging on skin to repress,
all these emotions, mixed and going
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