We brood of the system,
We angels of blood,
Fell to the ground,
Washed with a dew.
Remains to expand,
The root of the square,
Smashed all the windows
That us don't care.
We brood of the system,
Oblivion illusions,
And spilled over us,
Splashed in confusion.
We brood of the system,
Incorrupt Galaxies,
We mortal ancestors,
Who came the day after.
The shirt is preventing,
To raise your hands toward,
And bites in the back,
And cold plaque bound.
The persons in lab coats,
Dictate us reality,
But all we are dreaming,
Their faith is banality.
We brood of the system,
We angels of blood,
Fell to the ground,
Washed with a dew.
The chamber number six
© Copyright: Сфидс, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111061404381
Свидетельство о публикации №111061404381
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