1 ago 2014


It was the triumph of a wearing race;
it's the perfection I cannot replace.
It is the blunder that makes me sick,
and it is a wall built brick by brick.

The mask of silence covers the shame,
and you find just your choice to blame.
I don't want you to behold my spine,
'cause you clearly forgot what lived behind.

Like prison bars,
my chest is showing inside
the Criminal and all Its scars.

Pulse slows down
as little by little beating rests,
and devotion has flown

away. I leave this memory
to the heart of the stream,
where the water keeps on dancing
and my ankles halted lean.

Nessun commento:

Posta un commento