неделя, 10 февруари 2013 г.

Writing practice #3

Fading rhythm, bass and chords, rather sleepy night
Drums come alive, hey Joe, beat that djembe hard, bang it man
Damn it, I still can’t hear the very song which I knew so well
Swing baby swing, you really sang and danced with me ……

I knew you well, you trusted me, but all was lost in fireworks staccatto
I dived back in time and reconstructed deep how I fucked it all up,
I played your words, reversed them back into my mind and heard it all again
I really hear you now, my dear, but I was so godly selfish, deaf, and blind

I know you better now, but you are gone, and I know you better…

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