martedì, settembre 27, 2005
The house of stairs' brocken scene
Indifference, masculine, traitor,
and into that milling swarm the enemies pointed
their guns towards the window panes of our rooms.
The winter must be in the house.

Soon.
In the harms of night, a silence which even crickets don’t dare profane.
We walk to the lake and sink into the frozen water
.

Everything is static

Nobody calls your name
If you leave a day to breathe
Summers are worth more than this boat
We sail all day like a farewell to winter
A lampara keeps on burning
and somehow we can’t return

we can’t return

You ‘ve been scared

as tons of christians feared the lions
In the coliseum
and cried

 
posted by a3nima at 12:55 | Permalink |


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