I know a woman: silence, tired of bitter words, He lives in a mysterious blinking her dilated pupils. Her soul is open only greedily fine music of the verse, Before long life and foggy arrogant and deaf. Inaudible and slow, so strange move her afloat, It can not be called beautiful, but shes my happiness. When I crave self-will and bold and proud - Im going for it Learn wise sweet pain in her languor and delirium. It is light in the hours of longing and holds lightning in his hand, And the rosary her dreams, like shadows on the sand paradise of fire.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Mar 2014 10:53:58 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015