Ah! leave the smog, the opulence, the screams
Of Moscow, and the black-clad street.
For still, by the Australian shore,
The warmth of the wind is narcotic.
Still, still the suns of summer greet
The backyard of Seth,
And yobbos still their songs repeat,
Where breaks the blue Australian sea.
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God damn!..
It looks pretty dull
gngngngn the shore or I don't know what.
Just like we need a shore
a shore is for dead whales
Friendly yours
Dull! You're dull, you dull-arse motherfucker!
'Idyllic', I believe, is the word you are looking for. 'Tranquil' would suffice.
And don't be fucken dissin dead whales either, cunt. Respeck for the dead and all that. Remember, whales are just like the rest of us: victims of the fucking stupid decisions our evolutionary forebears made way back in the mists of time. In this case, of course, when God asked 'em to choose between whale and person, they got on the wrong tram, so to speak, and opted for the sea, which, I hope you will agree, is really more a reason to extend a certain degree of sincere (note that: sincerity, young man, a dose of which would probably spark your quality of life up no end) pity toward them, rather than adopting the position that...
Fuck, I'm tired. I'll pick this up again later.
Exactly, you just add in my inconsistent stream of ideas the words which were missing,
sincerely, I'd like to be on the shore too
in a shell
or between too grains of sand.
Stuck and staring at the fake horizon moving back and forth just like...
Fuck, I'm tired too
Aurevoir mon ami
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