Notice how he has numbered the blue veins in my breast. Moreover there are ten freckles. Now he goes left. Now he goes right. He is building a city, a city of flesh. He`s an industrialist. He has starved in cellars and, ladies and gentlemen, he`s been broken by iron, by the blood, by the metal, by the triumphant iron of his mother`s death. But he begins again. Now he constructs me. He is consumed by the city. >From the glory of words he has built me up. >From the wonder of concrete he has molded me. He has given me six hundred street signs. The time I was dancing he built a museum. He built ten blocks when I moved on the bed. He constructed an overpass when I left. I gave him flowers and he built an airport. For traffic lights he handed at red and green lollipops. Yet in my heart I am go slow, children.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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