How I long to be there,
At your lap full of greenness of youth;
O How I wish to go back to those days,
The days of fights and boozes,
Of misty evenings,
Of a life carefree and unguided,
Like a virgin, unsatiated soul...
Like a kite thrust against the gale so strong...
O How I long to retrace those paths,
Of reckless, illusory existence,
Of pristine happiness,
Devoid of the smell of coins and filthy papers
Which some people call 'fortune'
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The State Funeral
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What had made Brahm to compose Such a tune, with such poise? What comforting idea made him To put music into such a rhythm? What inexpre...
bravo...bravo....must say that it takes a minute or two to get there...the road goes by the river named "nostalgia"!
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