He stretches his hands, uncloses his arms,
He begs, he asks to have some alms.
He used to toil, he used to strive,
But cruel is this cruel life,
But cruel is this cruel life -
He's got no bread, just only knife.
Though not that's why he looks so sad
(A man can live without bread) :
There is no hope left in his heart,
He's got just dreams there torn apart,
He's got just dreams there torn apart,
For he lived long and tried so hard.
So out he goes, knife in his hand,
Upon the God forsaken land
The knife-edge swelling with the blood
He put its blade into his heart
no hope
© Copyright: Олег Пятовский, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113101404820
Свидетельство о публикации №113101404820
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