Get your digit delight elsewhere, lighthouses!

A crop of sweets fallen from a plastic tree, a bunch of eyes tuned for the best and worst, a world that melts waiting for the night to go by. Years leak and years drop, idiots drool and lights fly by like dirty eagles between the clouds. Where does the sky lives? Where do angels land? If anyone knows the exact address, we'll order a taxi with tomato sauce and garlic powder, we'll drive straight. Isis, name of a goddess (Bataglia for the curious crowd), forgotten fixture of another empire, and back again with the features you can admire above. The fearless lady has built her own (living and loving legend), has designed her way, thank you cheekbones and thank you eyes that can't skip the lights and delights. We and our minorities lick the screen, waiting for more, waiting for a girl like you to stop the flow of insanities flooding our tears and brains. We all need a muse in disguise to turn our lives into ventures, we all should leave a place free in our subutexed brains for a breeze coming from unknown horizons.