Tonight in my dreams I saw the money virus.
It glowed red-yellow-green and had black accent for his graceful verschwurbelten genome.
It said nothing.
But the inspiration of the dream shop told me, "Look, that's it look,"
But even in dreams can come mistrust, and it was so.
"What, this cute thing to have brought this to us?" Wondered my dream brain.
"I do not see anything slimy, nothing Grindiges, no gout, no blood stains, no nicks, not even pustules or even an orange peel! The money is to be the virus? "
"Just because it looks so lovely, it's so contagious, my dear Magnus," said another self that I was able to locate nowhere, and it said it permanently.
I tried to yell at it, but my alleged screams escaped only the same small air bubbles out of the country thrown a dying fish out.
The dream went on.
The virus began to rotate. There was dancing, so to speak, although steps and sequence of steps seemed foreign. It felt visibly well, and suddenly it even laughed.
The laughter sirrte through my spinal cord like a saw.
There really in a way a chant whose Vieltonigkeit clutched my stomach, and she sang "You're still there" in the eternal Rundgesang.
I tried to laugh himself, yet remained rigid and motionless, a dry tree stalks same.
But then I began to hineinzusingen in me.
And my song seemed that I forgot the virus in their sleep.
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Tags: Financial virus , singing , dream
