Nearby the moldering bridge and the stream that gushes from a fatal wound The quiet town in its hallowed hollow, waking while still sleeping sound Oblivious and dreaming, its people always dreaming Of nothing and no one and nowhere worth speaking! Oblivious and trivial, uncomplicated people
But the sun shone forth one Sunday morning And stretched its arms toward the evening And a beam of light fell on the stone The black eye sleeping in an open grave
What is this thing? the crying of the throng This ugly thing upon the ground that smokes and Smolders with a dismal sound? A nightmare, infidelity! An offensive darkling augury! Shun this horror! Shun this omen fallen in the night!
Only one awake, and one that hates His very life A poet’s soul And a deeper sea The stone bore waves into his mind Seared his eyes and washed his hate awayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
