A house of wounded,
A place for dead,
There are no windows,
No place to shed
One's sorrow, anger;
Instead
To cry with mercury one must,
Or to behead
The unborn bastards
In this shred.
So out of this world...
So out of this world.
A flower blooms,
Yet in it's colors
There is no life,
As if tomorrow
Was all sucked out.
To say 'I'm sorry'
Or bear a grudge
Needs both some sorrows;
Yet sanity
Is needed also.
So out of this world...
So out of the dead.
My World Down
© Copyright: Андрей Гатинский, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107010402502
Свидетельство о публикации №107010402502
Рецензии
мне нравится.) мне ваще в посл. время больше понятны и близки стихи на английском...
Нацки 30.01.2007 22:24 • Заявить о нарушении
Нацки 30.01.2007 22:24 • Заявить о нарушении