Still kingdoms exist, that return for own will, they live, they relive, they live together in the Medium Age. This is one of those kingdoms.
Oil company kingdom, somewhere in the Golf of Guinea.
Brave, elegant, fearless, moves like this protected of the king. Epic as Lancelot makes time the horseman Epok. It is pleased, it is courted for the queen. The sovereignty extends astral in the real skybox, they wait for the medieval tournament.
The bodies of the populace are anxious as plants to the wind in free field. They are expressed unhappy because they waited for great marathon of you eat and you drink. Great, serious trumpets announce the fair. They resemble the thunder of cannons that echo to palace. And the populace gets scared, recalls times comings and goings. Convicts that the kingdom returned to the war, to the habitual pastime of the cut that it is are fought because of a black liquid. That walks very coveted by powerful kingdoms, that constantly send embassies and ships loaded with valuable coins and new money of paper. Then, the real acolytes affirm categorically that the kingdom is one of those developed of the world, in spite of anybody to want to explain the reason of the mob to be foolishly, totally unemployed. Evidently that in the kingdom nobody works. Everything comes of out. Import is the word that more it is pronounced, as if it was a dictionary with only one word.
The kingdom oil company submits seventeen vice-kingdoms, governed by viceroys. It is limited to north by the county Kusakirila, to south for the county of Mutumini, to west for Mu Kalunga, and to east for the county of Jinhoka. The ray-small is in charge of mainly in selling any thing, being included necessary, the daughters.
The secondary occupation of the people of this kingdom, they are the marathons of you eat and you drink that get to last three days and three nights, or weeks. The fights and disagreements are constant, but the king's musketeers are always attentive. Any manifestation of the populace is contradicted by horses and dogs, knowingly by the musketeers. Many rioters already tried musket shot and canine bites, more than sharp.
The real trumpets when blown, they seem storm of thunders, getting confused with cannons. A horse prances, the horseman says goodbye to the mounted and he finds the vulgar inviting saddle of the soil. The mob get nervous… remembers the cruel violence recently finished of the siblings disagreeing. The curses appear:
- Flee! Don't they hear the noise of the cannons?
An old villager with a heavy hay bale to feed the horses trips, she falls. She gets up to limp, runs how it can, it drags the hurt leg and the weight of the age. Scream:
- Aiuéééé!!! It is again more war! They come war there!
- This time the is where? The where?
They pretend to be afraid, disoriented, confused. The hungry persons' crowd and torn it steers in the direction of the coach and sedan chair Real. They get to peel gold pieces. Like piranhas, in few seconds the real vehicles almost disappear. They remain them the skeletons. Pieces of a wheel remained. The horseshoes of the horses didn't escape. They will serve as amulets for the sorceries.
The king swallows in dry, it uncrosses the legs, it recomposes the coat, he perspires the miserable chest, it compresses the lips, it is exasperated, and fire the musketeers' boss.
- Who agitated, was it displaced of the atmosphere?
- Nobody, my king! They got scared with the noise of the trumpets.
- Calls me the real trumpeter. I already prevented him that noise is too much. He told me that distrusts the virus of the trumpets. In the palace it is not calmed, I hardly get to rest. For audiences of embassies and ambassadors, I ordered to build a Petit Trianon. That crazy one trumpets my head.
- What should increase my king?
- It puts an end to the riot… it hunts the thieves of the real carriages. I want the criminal. It is even new orders are suspended the disorders of the damned trumpets. Substitute them for cans… for something that doesn't make noise.
- My king, did we continue with the tournament?
- Yes, although we know beforehand that we are always winners.
- We are the best ones, my king!
- It hauls you, it releases you!
Gil Gonçalves
Image: http://arrastao.weblog.com.pt/arquivo/spanish_inquisition_court.jpg
Oil company kingdom, somewhere in the Golf of Guinea.
Brave, elegant, fearless, moves like this protected of the king. Epic as Lancelot makes time the horseman Epok. It is pleased, it is courted for the queen. The sovereignty extends astral in the real skybox, they wait for the medieval tournament.
The bodies of the populace are anxious as plants to the wind in free field. They are expressed unhappy because they waited for great marathon of you eat and you drink. Great, serious trumpets announce the fair. They resemble the thunder of cannons that echo to palace. And the populace gets scared, recalls times comings and goings. Convicts that the kingdom returned to the war, to the habitual pastime of the cut that it is are fought because of a black liquid. That walks very coveted by powerful kingdoms, that constantly send embassies and ships loaded with valuable coins and new money of paper. Then, the real acolytes affirm categorically that the kingdom is one of those developed of the world, in spite of anybody to want to explain the reason of the mob to be foolishly, totally unemployed. Evidently that in the kingdom nobody works. Everything comes of out. Import is the word that more it is pronounced, as if it was a dictionary with only one word.
The kingdom oil company submits seventeen vice-kingdoms, governed by viceroys. It is limited to north by the county Kusakirila, to south for the county of Mutumini, to west for Mu Kalunga, and to east for the county of Jinhoka. The ray-small is in charge of mainly in selling any thing, being included necessary, the daughters.
The secondary occupation of the people of this kingdom, they are the marathons of you eat and you drink that get to last three days and three nights, or weeks. The fights and disagreements are constant, but the king's musketeers are always attentive. Any manifestation of the populace is contradicted by horses and dogs, knowingly by the musketeers. Many rioters already tried musket shot and canine bites, more than sharp.
The real trumpets when blown, they seem storm of thunders, getting confused with cannons. A horse prances, the horseman says goodbye to the mounted and he finds the vulgar inviting saddle of the soil. The mob get nervous… remembers the cruel violence recently finished of the siblings disagreeing. The curses appear:
- Flee! Don't they hear the noise of the cannons?
An old villager with a heavy hay bale to feed the horses trips, she falls. She gets up to limp, runs how it can, it drags the hurt leg and the weight of the age. Scream:
- Aiuéééé!!! It is again more war! They come war there!
- This time the is where? The where?
They pretend to be afraid, disoriented, confused. The hungry persons' crowd and torn it steers in the direction of the coach and sedan chair Real. They get to peel gold pieces. Like piranhas, in few seconds the real vehicles almost disappear. They remain them the skeletons. Pieces of a wheel remained. The horseshoes of the horses didn't escape. They will serve as amulets for the sorceries.
The king swallows in dry, it uncrosses the legs, it recomposes the coat, he perspires the miserable chest, it compresses the lips, it is exasperated, and fire the musketeers' boss.
- Who agitated, was it displaced of the atmosphere?
- Nobody, my king! They got scared with the noise of the trumpets.
- Calls me the real trumpeter. I already prevented him that noise is too much. He told me that distrusts the virus of the trumpets. In the palace it is not calmed, I hardly get to rest. For audiences of embassies and ambassadors, I ordered to build a Petit Trianon. That crazy one trumpets my head.
- What should increase my king?
- It puts an end to the riot… it hunts the thieves of the real carriages. I want the criminal. It is even new orders are suspended the disorders of the damned trumpets. Substitute them for cans… for something that doesn't make noise.
- My king, did we continue with the tournament?
- Yes, although we know beforehand that we are always winners.
- We are the best ones, my king!
- It hauls you, it releases you!
Gil Gonçalves
Image: http://arrastao.weblog.com.pt/arquivo/spanish_inquisition_court.jpg
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