On my way home at windy night
The moon was shining like insane,
It's light has tied up like a chain,
Which seems to make a strange unite.
I'm trudging through the fields of gold,
The rye is fluttering in the wind.
Who needs a catcher to be free?
Who needs while flying feels a hold?
I'm looking through the sticky mist,
I'd want it hide me from the world,
'Cause I'm so tired and any more
There isn't power to resist.
The anguish eats me from within
And makes me hate this goddamn life,
This killing and nonsencial strife,
Which makes a pain through all the skin.
This fool believes I can be healed,
He talks to me and gives a drugs.
What can he knows about the luck
To jump among the golden field?
But time has come, the dawn is nigh,
Forgive me, Phoeb, but I'm mad,
It's only dream I've ever had.
I'm the catcher in the rye.
The catcher in the rye
© Copyright: Рейзеню, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112022604339
Свидетельство о публикации №112022604339
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