The Unknown

A darkened grave of no one's own,
The dumpy presence of the unknown.
It looks and screams in a distant voice
And offers you to have a choice.

It hums between the falling stars,
It knows how short our lives are.
It spits at the prayers we try to say,
And whispers lies to ruin our way.

Its face is fog, its arms are cold,
It buys our love and soul for gold.
And when we ask what is the trick beyond
It laughs. And sound makes us sick.

For every truth we think we know,
There is a cost of the Unknown.
And what remains when all is gone—
Perhaps the pity of being born.

The day turns quickly into night,
The sparkly life which once was bright
Is black with grey and spiky bits,
The part of the endless mind's eclipse.



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НА ПЕРВОМ УНИКАЛЬНОМ
НАРОДНОМ СОАВТОРСКОМ МУЗЫКАЛЬНОМ КАНАЛЕ — РАДИО С НЕЙРОГЕНЕРАТИВНЫМ
КОНТЕНТОМ — ZINA

https://t.me/c/2550733529/2047

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