You are a cool girl, if you can hear my voice. Play me a song from your iTunes library; I wanna go back to the state in witch I was conceived and write about my life like it's a biography, and when the people check out the pages from the shelves, it will read like a novel whose name was yellow, when he grew up so long and hard; and Its name's mixed up with the cards on the surface like The lake at night, blowing through the villages that have no name in the summertime, and the universe is made of space time, and it looks like a sheet that has been stretched at 4 corners and infiniteness of the very Middle which grows out As a special anchovy violin fiddle.