Call me when get overriped
The rapsberries in the Garden of sorrow.
When in the dark of the alleys, at night,
quick sands give birth to thin flowers.
Once the hope grows up with purple blind rage
speak loudly, don't stop till I hear your call.
Go, but beware the wind-mills, 'cause they
turn quickly, squeezing phrases, words, all.
When the river stones begin a tender speech
Send me a message of love in a bottle.
But save, if you please, all these banal things
all kisses, and waltzes, and swings near the water.
And if it happens that you dream awake
my stairs in weeds, in deep and slimy swamps
with all the nasty butterflies of pain
over the sheer laces of my deluded mind
Take mercy on me, spare me a day of yours,
borrow me that frail memory of men,
wrap in a paper something little and worthless
and enter my castle, there aren't walls left.
Give me a magic drink to calm that fever down
my eyes are two dusty Atacamas...
Then drop the curtains or make fall the night
and save me, please, from all my madness.
Архив на блога
- ► 2017 (20)
- ► 2016 (37)
- ► 2015 (15)
- ► 2014 (14)
- ► 2013 (21)
- ► 2010 (67)
- ▼ 2009 (54)
- ► 2008 (69)