A pile of thorns

The palms without flesh, dark brown, represent a stark contrast to the appearance of the musical instruments, which are beautiful and luxurious, but the melody comes out sweet and exquisite and then intensifies in a solemn tone, like the hymn of a desert fairy, when she calls for her human lover.
The place, which is decorated with neon colors and dancing decorative bulbs, is getting hot. Everyone rushes towards the dance floor, old, young, and young, young and young, the harsh exile having stripped them of the intimacy of their emotions. She stood, belching the sweat of the shiny glass buildings, and remembering the paths that she could not walk on with anyone else, the memory of the moments of his presence, a tyrant who did not show mercy.