Death Nomads

Whichever way you go! I will sit here all morning. The market game is going on there. Turmeric pepper is still a corporate shawl. Surplus sweat at cheap prices. Buyers are looters, pujis and vedamas are rising madabbars. Unemployed educated bastards. The priest gives for the sake of destiny. The sun has risen here in a beautiful red glow. Two pigeons flew in the middle of the road. Black clouds flew to give me shade. I feel good as long as I am inside myself. I will stay here till death.