(no subject)
I’m just a home, a lonely home
My walls are made from wood and stone
Some people come and some are gone
And only wind sing sad-sad song.
No light inside. It’s gating cold.
The walls are shaking, coming old.
Where is no stranger, there’s no life
Home haven’t ears, home haven’t eyes.
To do something the home decides
To make the fire, kindle light
Become a beacon, not a house
It opens up its door like mouth
And fire the boards from wooden walls,
And sparks began to dance there waltz.
For now I shine, I hope you see,
I’m gating hot, I’m gating free
My ashes - each has little soul
I was a home. And now I’m coal.
I love you.
Мопед, видимо, не мой.
Все совпадения с реальностью случайны.