subject itself

Every hair on your head is counted
You are worth hundreds of sparrows
The tree you planted has become fecund
With kamikaze hummingbirds
Wings of hundreds of beats per second
Of people whose wings are just a blur
Afraid our eyes might become impaled
By their sharp and tiny beaks
Im so sorry
My spirits rarely in my body
It wanders through the dry country
Looking for a good place to rest
Your head upon my chest
And I can feel the pillow of your breast

icinde; ne istiyorsaniz onun olacagi bir yil dilegiyleen
merry merry merryyy christmaaassss !!!!!!

Meanwhile back in communist russia adli gruba, heatstroke gibi bi parca yaptigi icin tesekkurru borc bilirim.
(adabi muha$erete tabii , can yongasi bi kac adaptasyon problemi disinda, hmm evet..)
herseye ragmen..ki$ geldigi icin mutluluk saciyorum..ama gayet sakinim.
uyku duzeni aksakliklarinin duzenli hayat kavramiyla bagdastirilmasina karsiyim.evet.
yakinda, 2 elin sesi olur belki..proje,plan =! hayal kurma oyunlari. ..olmuyor..denedik..esitlenmiyorlar..

Fun : Not much
Reality : bites much
Distance: hurts much
Decisions : delay much
Actions : remains unreplied so much
Feature : scares dead much
Money : matters bloody much
Music : relax much
Dreams : makebelieving much
Plans : holds much
My man : miss much
Marriage : far much
Crisis: near much
Much more of all : not much...