Three songs outside "When I Eat Your Soul".

"When I Eat Your Soul"

How long does it take from the end to the beginning?

Sir, Delicious Sir, your hand, I'm going to eat

Your soul, the coffee-colored soul, is precipitated in the night

And that poet, the poet I hate

They don't taste good

What else to run, please come to me and let me forgive

Let me put on a new scarf, your soul is pale, the corners of your mouth

It's full of human feelings, and I seem to have seen it somewhere

Now you beg me, beg me to eat your soul

The soul is the source of suffering

But it makes you beautiful, and beauty is sinful

And the white bird is flying into the blue sky, and my teeth will chew carefully

My hands will be gently pressed, and my facial features will be distorted by enjoyment

In the chest of your soul, the nucleus of melancholy solitude

I've been spit on the ground

Treants

I imagined that the body, my left hand, must have been flowing downwards

Flowing into corners I can't see, yes, my hands

Still looking for that sesame seed

Women hide in my shadows, like my lobes

The king, the king of milk and cake

With his little hands, he picked up the dirt, year after year

And I'll have that drop of rain to moisten something

I wouldn't say, "I'll still have you, you can't dump me."

The mountains in the distance, the mountains are the peaks of the times

There must be something up there, touching the breathing and sun-dried fish

Your speech is clear, and you will fall at my feet

Seeping into the dirt and into my deeply buried dreams, and I

The girl on my back is reading my wounds

"After 10 o'clock"

I didn't even find its eyes, burning eyes

in the heavens, and continue to shine on an afternoon

She would look for the rusty iron in the evening, in the dreams of the stars

Time passed, and from my side, he was the child

Not mushrooms or moonshine, he counted from my left hand

"One, two....." Are you okay, do you want to be sensible

Reason is like that fish, turning over

Moonshine is like powder, now or after ten o'clock

Go and see you, the light leans against the couch, sir

Sit down, Mr. North, and hold up the scissors

And the night was broken, into small pieces, and in flakes

Poetic Death

You tell me, you say, yes, right here

A page has been turned, miss, and I will call you by name

Also unfold your rose and tear off its petals

Say, let's just say it's dead

Dead in the present, also dead in the past

We can not believe it, continue to play endless cards, and curse those who have not woken up

Squeeze out the loneliness from the uplifted beans, and at that time, the birds

It is a deep bird, in the sky, like a king

I'm not just stuffing food in my mouth, I'm touching your hands

Like the lust of a lover, I will be stopped at night

The night is silent, its body, probably in that strain

Wild Sayuri on it, it's last

The heat is running out of my fingertips