In one of those days when I smoke without knowledge, and even a chair
old and broken, lying in the street,
seems so nice, it makes me mourn. Today
light hurt me,
the wind, the ground floor ... life.
But to me all I know so little
I get sad songs,
to mourn more and more eager.
Always pulling, tugging, pulling the thread,
and I never see the end of the skein.
0 comments:
Post a Comment