Multicolor lights are reflected in puddles
We were alone in this city of muddles
Rattle of tram, water under my feet
Listening to Аfrican jazz I roam the street
Bored faces, and distortion of road
My sarcastic view a little softer than boult
No one enjoys this winter any more
I don’t want to follow the law
Fuck everything and leave my home town
Hear the reproaches of stupid clowns
Feel tired of stuffy vagons and sheets made of flax
Get rid of the phone and write a good text
I don’t want to come home, I’m sorry
I lost a part of myself on the road, don’t worry
Now there is no one around and nothing to eat
Don’t forget to fix yourself when we meet.
Дівчина біля вікна
When we meet
© Copyright: Дивчина Биля Викна, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №212011100829
Свидетельство о публикации №212011100829
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