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
At least they have given her The State Funeral With tongue cut, She could not have spoken for The rare award, The police have done the th...
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Lord As a pianist whence Fully one fills a sense... An evening thinks perhaps it proper To become a starry night's divine lover... ...
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Once the sculpted face Fell and with it fell Our pride Our demons We made love after that By the sides of our past. (For 'Magp... -
For the last few days... They are not talking... They just listen together-songs... Not songs proper even-some kind of music, instrument...
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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