I'd like to live in a place, where the birds sing while falling

Where the burning sun is whitely stinging, warm, stinging white light burns my eyes

And the birds are singing

Where the night comes fast

Where only one faintly blinking lamp blinks faintly in the half-lit, smoky room swimming in half-light and smoke

With a single gentle movement she gently let down her redly gleaming reddish hair gently

And stray and matted dogs stray mattedly

And the birds are falling

Her redly gleaming long red nail digs through her soft leopard-spotted fur

And the girl sings

I'd like to live in a place where her body is a work of art and you can buy it like one

Red hand digs into red hair

And the cigarette smoke flies

Like the bird, or falls

And the girl sings

A dead march

The sharp intoxication killed the singing, falling, artwork-bodied, cheap bird

And the crying, sad stray dogs stray sadly and crying

And the yellow cold, but more like lukewarm, sharp, yellow lamplight burns my eyes

The girl doesn't sing

The wild, addicted intoxication made her mute

And nobody buys her anymore

She's singing while falling, and when she landed, she became silent

And she didn't fly or fall anymore