Drops on a dust like traces of hoofs,
There won't be neither rainbows,
Nor the sun shining on tops of roofs.
My personal land of tears,
My own ruins of hopes,
Spots on the rearview mirror,
My private air of loss.
Cry, cry, ye water,
Pour your tears into my palm.
Let by your heavy greyness
My ugly despair be crushed down.
The scorched earth is drinking rain,
The scorched soul is dry.
Will I ever be me once again
Or will I still live in a lie?
The silent scream deafens me,
The dark light drives me mad.
I have dust instead of my skin,
And water instead of my blood.
Drops on a dust like bleeding wounds,
Nobody sees that besides me.
And I'm just staying to howl with hounds.
Nor rainbows
© Copyright: Этоттт, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №212042701758
Свидетельство о публикации №212042701758
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