Besedila:
Unpersons Grey Sigh In A Flower Husk

My hand burnt when i touched her, and i dreamt for a moment. bury me in a box of photographs, a thick bleak wind across my? your face is so slick slick

funeste) le vent funeste, la soupir crispe la souris grise. in a flower-husk in a nonhouse, 'la maison de la non-maison, puisqu'ils renferment' in a

I. black finnegan?liar black finnegan?something insensate black finnegan?who walks slow tall and long in the dark room black finnegan?whose words commoving