You’ll tramble the rose
By softly hand was giving
It doesn’t metter, caues your soul’s morouse.
That sacrificed love, still living
On a neglected semetery. And she’s
One of the shadows living here. Dancing here.
Death is a life without
Love’s confession
Mist of the nidnight –
Sunset of youe days.
Love is a death and rose in your hand –
Thorns and petails of your life.
Love and death- the haze on your grave
And the shadows of your life.
Glowing blood like that one rose ill-starred
Blood on youe hands and her white dress in it.
Shouldn’t be an angel, love doesn’t worth it,
You know, but she didn’t knew,
She failed.
And now there is blood, her blood on your hands.
Blood on your hands
© Copyright: Авиенда, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105031001812
Свидетельство о публикации №105031001812
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