A late night hour, I’ve heard no sound But cracked whistles from the drain Consuming what I’ve left behind Habits, needs – it’s all the same I am too like other things Apples, beef and body wastes
I tried to lose the grip I tried to fall asleep But something shook me up
Flocks – They gathered round like clouds above my shelter city
Seaming roars of mourners, blaming God above Leaning down their heads towards the Iris’s stem There he was hanged beside his love
The cricket’s broken violin I’ve never thought of why he stopped His monotonic painful lamentation The cricket’s broken violin The stage – the stem beneath my house Through all his life Through all my nights He tried to write his next creation
The herd was gone and I was left To lift his tiny body up A matchbox, a proper end You’re dreaming now my only friend A matchbox, a proper end I write these words with broken pens
I wish I could dream too I wish I could dream
Through all my life Through all my nights I try to write my next creationTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
