There are jokers in the hallway. The poets are drinking wine. The funeral is ready but the princess is laughing. The army has been called. The staircase is dripping blood. The violinist is a dreamer. The room has got new curtains. A list of hobos are singing and smoking dream pipes. The writer is weak and lonely. They are selling candy in the store. The napkins are red with lipsticks. The washbasin with semen. A wizard's lost his tongue. A strange fragnance fills the room. The choir group is getting to leave. The princess reappears again, but then slips back in the shadow. The camera is finding a frame. A dream is being trapped in a jar by the window. Snow white is feeling blue. The priest has a story to tell. In the woods someone's screaming. The dogs and the hyenas are around. There are headaches and there are storms. There are letters and there are answers. There are burning witches. There are dragons and caterpillars. There are mushrooms where I sit. There are roses where you lie. There's death and there's a silk pillow. There are words and words. There's melancholoy. But there is happiness. The princess smiles. The widowers hide. There's beauty in autumn. There are bending trees and swollen lies. Deciet. Gamble. Prose. Everything is blue, gray and lonely. Yet you smile. You don't want to paint a picture. A picture of Dorian Gray only this time you start to age. What trap in crap. The whistle blows. The train leaves at 9. Why don't we see dead birds drop from the sky. Why do we sit here.