look up, or probably to your right, then up.

i guess i'll write one.

i like clouds, i really do. every time, they are different.

well, first of all, they are grey.

Grey.

UK.

and not to mention.

also, its like a map on your face? reminder, you can look up each day, and your map woe not be the same. the illusionary blue be like: get out of my serenade. but the Grey fades both ways, and doe not give in to depth.

how about the time when you look up, and it's all orange? that pale brilliance is like an acrylic dab. and what was that colour? Payne's Gray? my favourite.

its a blue and frightless cold, but distant, so warm by the rain, or the wind, but cold by the rain and the wind; after all, not black neither white.

it moves, always there. the nubes, they'll paint a heaven for some, or a nostalgia for others.

and we bring the beat back!

with the british palatial,

we're in for the tennis rack

sharapova.