A child of the fly, repeating purification of the six roots and climbing her brow shaped like Mt. Fuji.
Under blazing sun, good times and bad times we have, by emergency medical service.
By my sleeve under, to wipe sweat away and fart. Or, for money passed under the table, to sweat and make efforts, he farts.
Two women, at another stage wing, to quarrel with each other.
In this summer, to just bake in roast, three pigs in this house.