As far as I can remember, we only know you as a talent, a unique rengaine, usurpation, pretentiousness, strange eclipses, or the idea of the false antique, the important practice on the true. You confess a life made of various rereadings, the imposture disperses you, you simulate credibly, say yes, but embroider is much better, the rain only sees fire. King Chimilly, you falsify, modesty says doubt, intelligence the talent. Chimilly, timid you mime, your poetry is great, the elegance is the flow, as in times of false airs of genius. Almost true stories, short or long, you have tons, captives in your wish, or not, but it amazes me, specimens. You, your papers attest, everything there is false like rust. Counterfeit your nature, you never solve it, deny your signature, you would be unworthy of us. Your fable, yes, but always a drawing, it's practical to know that or nothing. King Chimilly, you falsify, modesty says doubt, intelligence the talent. Chimilly, timid you mime, your poetry is great, the elegance is the flow, as in times of false airs of genius. Your bad faith is a model of exposition, all accounts are active, only alternative facts. The day of your death, so say, throw in a carton bag, with plastic plates where your screams will be written, pay attention. King Chimilly, you falsify, modesty says doubt, intelligence the talent. Chimilly, I mime the sims, as in times of false airs of genius. King Chimilly, timid you mime, modesty says doubt, intelligence the talent. Chimilly, you falsify, poetry is great, the elegance is the flow, as in times of false airs of genius. But if I give in conclusion the real reasons of your success, it's that nothing precedes the real. I'm Chimilly I told you I'm Chimilly