The evening air is sealing by the dark,
But we have nothing left to hide inside it.
Not even in the letter of love spark,
Not even in the sacred touch of blinded.
Still keeping pray, with hands and laps in dirt.
Still wandering around the beds and ballads.
So you can understand this fickle world,
But never find the harmony and balance.
Данное произведение является художественным авторским переводом стихотворения "101010" http://stihi.ru/2018/11/22/1122