You got a gun, you'll shoot.
You got a breath, you'll hold.
You got a mouth, you'll moot.
You got your soul unfold.
We pray to bleach the life,
Someone to fill the time,
And goods do get that dime,
So we can call us rife.
You got a luck you'll waste.
You got a wit untold.
You got a word to taste.
Highlight it in dark bold.
I charge to bring a sooth
From all time rubbing waves,
You got a naught and you
Are stolen fallen raves.
Naught
© Copyright: Ксе Васильева, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114113009689
Свидетельство о публикации №114113009689
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