My illnesses are temporary, Harder to other people than to myself. They are totally without shape, Deep, pervertly dirty but radiat. They are insanely animated and again, Limited by corporal claustrophobia. My illnesses are week infront of my mind, Shaped in the shell of exterior Its infinity is running wildly from the veins to the arteries. It is red 'cause of the shame which ends one more circle And comes back to the beginning again My thought are threatening, More to other people than to myself. They are the form of teeth which bit the peace of time Trying to make the space for the one more life, That space is filling itself with the spring air, That space I strong as an oak with the thousand years old back, Marked by the storms of the past. I'll stand, lonely, looking for myself. Through my glorious past.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
