Department from the window I saw the mountains in the sunset at the banquet. We missed the sunset. Today evening, no one see us hand in hand, when the blue night is gradually falling into the world. For you to listen to me, my words, often into a thin, silver gulls at the beach on the footprints. Or your ribs, where the Lord cut off at one. One day it all of a sudden pain in your body methotrexate singing, I write poetry, not monologue. If I said that if. You love me, love me like you like.