sunday
Добавлено: 22 апр 2012, 00:54Forlorn she looks,
Despised and needless.
Infernal sky is moaning, laid by piercingly cold rains,
Over the head of hers,
While of commiting suicide
In room upstairs she thinks.
My schizophrenic brain is covered with some bloody stains.
A scream, so unequivocal,
Comes from the room upstairs,
The night becomes a hundred times more quiet and serene,
I clutch at rugged armrest of the old armchair.
There is no you. Your soul with sky is one,
Your corpse will turn in soil,
And my lone existence, now, on which I've been so keen,
Collapses in the raindrop on the window-glass.
Despised and needless.
Infernal sky is moaning, laid by piercingly cold rains,
Over the head of hers,
While of commiting suicide
In room upstairs she thinks.
My schizophrenic brain is covered with some bloody stains.
A scream, so unequivocal,
Comes from the room upstairs,
The night becomes a hundred times more quiet and serene,
I clutch at rugged armrest of the old armchair.
There is no you. Your soul with sky is one,
Your corpse will turn in soil,
And my lone existence, now, on which I've been so keen,
Collapses in the raindrop on the window-glass.