marți, 4 august 2009


As I thought I flied with you
To the four ends of the universe
My tired wings began feeling
The cruel grasps of the sweltering sun.
And so my feathers slowly began falling
Till at last I died in my own illusions
And I dwelled in a never-ending funeral
Where it was my own body
That wouldn't rot,
But gleamed more afresh,
To always remind the dreamer
Of how foolish he had been
Believing that there was true love
In the heaven of your eyes.

- by Cold

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