Tango of forgotten days.

[un_poet]

I was perched upon the seat like a king upon his throne, but I was majesty to no kingdom. From left and right voices reached my deafening ears, but my interest was waning at best. Before my eyes angels and demons danced in wild frenzy - or so it seemed, - but my vision was becoming blurry. To say the least and whatnot, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, I was not in the best state of mind: the days are getting stranger (and distant). All that was later: too late and not early enough. Alas! I bit my tongue too harshly and held back too long: I didn’t say the words yearning to jump from my tongue and wildly splatter across her face (- вялая курица!). Oh, what a spectacle that would have been! For a fleeting seconds I pictured the scene, amused and barely listening to her (yet another) lament. I must have smiled vaguely, но крики "ура" застыли во рту (опять!). I thought of escape suddenly, but I was powerless against the chains that kept me at my black, thorny throne: a raven (nevermore!), sinner man.

[And] so I run to the river it was bleeding
I run to the sea it was bleeding
I run to the sea it was bleeding all on that day
So I run to the river it was boiling
I run to the I sea it was boiling
I run to the sea it was boiling all on that day.