The lonely room is waiting for the noise
White gloves are playing music on the keys.
The ghost is singing with its fearful voice,
I feel the fear tingling in my knees.
It sings about its dreadful, lonely hate
About the souls are lost in hands of night
It doesn't matter if it isn't late
That sounds today can kill the spots of light.
My heart, I think, today is fool of wonder
It's very good it cannot leave the chest
My fate sings I will be buried under
The wings of birds that try to fly to West.
There is no chance for coping with this power
And only thunder makes me save and sound
It clears my mind for moment of an hour
It gives a chance for living on the ground.
White Gloves
© Copyright: Эвелин Флоримель, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111040400295
Свидетельство о публикации №111040400295
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