Ελληνικοί ιδωματισμοί, μεταφρασμένοι…

It happened the come to see.
He's going around like the unfair curse.
Something is running down to the gypsies.
It did not sit on us.
You do not get bored.
It gives her to me
.It brakes her to me.
Who pays the bride.
Fuck your horn.
I do not know what is being done to me.
I do not know Christ.
He does not understand Christ.
The situation has become unedited (unpublished).
Your mind and a pound and the painter's brush.
I came out of my clothes.
(The University labs are) at Devil's mother.It rains chair legs.
Curly hair.
I do not have faces to come out in society.
How from here morning morning?
I do not know my blindnessI am hearing it.
I see it pale.
Your Christ.
Waterless .
Dewatered.
You are for the festivals.
We do not chew.
Slow the cabbages.
Catch the egg and mow it.
Are we gluing coffee . pots?
Marrows drums.
Marrows with the origanum.
I made them salad - I made them sea.
We became robes .
Robe unbuttoned .
Straight you robe.
He has corn in his brain.
I spit them.He ate them.
The slaps go like clouds.
Shit high and gaze and mow turtles.
Holy Mary's eyes.
I saw Christ soldier.
I ate horror.
I take them to the skull.
Whatever you remember you are happy.
Are you asking and the change from over?
Glass!
I made her a lottery.
We drank him.
He confused the dick with the brush.
We confused our thighs.
He farted me.
Whore's railings.
Of the gay.
Fished.
Of the ass...I was deafenedDicks!
To my balls!
I scratch my balls.
And I was wondering why my balls where itching me...Everything and everything.
What John, what Johnie.
At the bottom, bottom of the testament.
Slow the much oil.
We are to be.
Take them not to owe you.
I keep she behind.
She is taking him.
Your bad weather.
With this side to sleep.
Your eye the cross-eyed.
Not a flea on his chest.
The pan rolled and found the lid.
And on the lid...I am dogbored.
It did deafboil.
We made the black eyes to see you.
Like the snows.
He made us the three two.
We took his three.
I have suffered my slab.
You are a shopping.
Shit and fromshit.
At the end they shave the groom.
Sunday short feast.
To say the figs figs and the tub tub.
You are calculating without the hotel owner.
He's bragging about like a gypsy's lath-hammer