He ached,
                        Liquid and whispering
                                                In his  delicate fool vision,
       Longing in and out of secrets he would  whisper in  her ear.

      It would be like:




       On  banished  bodies too  long been cold from  the wires of being alone.




      "I could be your lonely Cowboy."



Yes, I'm awake!

      You can't blame the sounds of the city.
                 They are relentless.
                             They crash against you so,
      Brace yourself:
      Hep Cats
      Cool Kids
      Half Deads
      And Skin Heads,
      Jock Boys
      And Tommy Girls
      Computer Geeks
      And Intellectuals,
      Goth Kids
      And Cigarette Smokers
      Big Drinkers
      And Bud Tokers,
      The Punk Rock Kids
      The Masses of Trendsetters.
      And all of you that can't be explained
any better.

      Brace yourself.
                            Watch your surge.

       Lest  your  bundle of prejudice  be  scattered among  those who pick you to pieces,
      And wear you like a badge that shields their heart.

      Brace yourself.
                            Because one thing is for sure,

       The night in this city  comes, and  its sounds  can make you a god  for a moment,
      or wash your existence away.


Presenting two wonderful works of jdk