In the solitary island far off in the ocean, at the work-site, it's a man's man's man's world moreover.
Of the dental technician, his fingers shaking, and never stop.
Pretending to be drunk, turning a def ear, his confession of love affair.
Chipping his deba bocho, in the spur pf the moment, fling away.
Pieces of propaganda handbills, dancing in the wind, act in the terror in the morning.