1. Woman in his bed Adèle Prado Dad cough, giving notice of you,comes to examine the tramelas, one by one.The House pitched roof is peroba of the field,I can sleep quiet. MOM comes I cover,I am blessing and fujo behind men,I contain usury, making render the BOM.If I play, the chusmas, desencadeiothe fish shoals.The topázios where MOM knows me burn,so she tells me jealous:sleeps so that it is late.Yes, MOM, I already:walk in square in nobody ralhar.Goodbye, cuido, campear in the streets, Imoa YMCA in bar, guitar and eyesdifficult to leave me.When this our city in fog, ressonarthe YMCA marianos vain hope in the matrix.The sky is here, MOM.That good not be book inspiredthe Catechism of Christian doctrine,can I defer my conscienceand galloping in torporof monsenhores podados.I suffer from tomorrowthe beautiful wine stainof flowers wilted pods on the floor.Factories have their patios,walls has its back.Headquarters are kind to me.I don't want to tea, my mother,I hand frei ChrysostomI ungindo with Holy oil.Life I want passion.And I am Lhasa slaves.With love became angry and momoI want my bed catre,the Holy Angel of the Lord,My excited guardador.But he is resting, eunuch, MOM.