quarta-feira, 29 de agosto de 2012
Raw fish salad
A whispering of despair corrodes the heart
Of who says it...
The sound of the death seems too complacent
Wanting us to be ourselves in the last minute
It's so uselless this will of existence
Tearing apart any scream of help
Because when everyone's trying so hard to loose
Someone is all alone trying to run into some light
So in this tragicity... The rivers flows in so deeply peace
While the moon seems to be so wistful about the times of wild winds...
And when the river shows itself more pitifull
Demons are created to be our dreadful devours
Whith bitter tears they walk
When we so quietly fish
Without ever knowing this terrible fate...