mercredi, 28 novembre 2012
SCENES OF THE OLD WORLD
There’s no spider for fresh air
Burning through candlelights
Only Ariadne’s sword and thread
For any gentle breeze that passes by
A single breath follows the stream
In desert storms and rainbow harmonies
Until a clear sound wipes the settings out
For an original dawn to shine
So high the moon at noon
So down the reflect at midnight
Water is just an elusive witness
Get me a drink when thunder plays
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