The person, i hate more than all,
Slides down along the clean wall,
And he leaves a trail,
Just like a big snail.
This person is me, don't you know?
I think, if i will start to count,
I will have to stop, but i won't.
The existens make us be won,
But now it just breake our bones.
Don't you feel this terrible blow?
***
Three hundred and six.
Here the past is a ghost.
If you want me be fixed,
Just don't let me be lost.
I am lost.
***
A part of my soul went away,
And never came back any day.
I'll spit to the face of my mind,
Because it's so ugly and mine.
I leave, if i dont like the show.
***
My eyes made of glass,
And i've never cry,
But the past comes to us,
And it makes me to try.
***
Three hundred and six.
Here the past is alive.
If you want me be fixed,
Why you make me to fly?
I can't fly.
*Текст несуществующей песни, да.
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© Copyright: Стаси Потоцки, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118091309083
Свидетельство о публикации №118091309083
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