Helena

My own test at breakfast, is only a lover's trauma, I don't feel blessed, complaining as we speak, with a raging Corona, all my troubles peak, I howl like the wind, my body amorous, emits dancing songs, that sing on the sea, a real performance, it pictures how I feel, a jukebox in the kitchen, everything roars, nothing's more simple, have never had a rest, but summon the holy ghost, tomorrow will be best, put butter on my toast.