Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights
In front of the cart the horse whinnies at the mossy cliffs and the woman transformed roams the forests as a hungry fox
Flocks of things unsaid fly from the creases in the roof
Sparrow gravel showers onto the masonry falls on knots of razor-sharp grass The eyes get used to the expanses And the beauty grows and grows unto death
Never follow the traces!
But sometimes say something To keep from going astray
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