Thursday, 29 April 2010
The magic word there is sound new, dream of exotic locales, the spectacular ancient neon busy. Set fire to the city shine appeal and the metropolitan area and the landscape arid and remote-hour strike age.
Through the summer the sun is your hair can feel the cool breeze drifting that warms your face. They know the beauty of your noble grace. It is the tip of your tongue, your lips, say the syllables that form word.... It is Abdulmajid.