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child poem

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
non brucio incenso
ci è un paese in pieno di vino
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
gloom
quando un atto è fatto per la libertà
chi chiamerĂ  il vento
sono nell'amore con gli alti posti far-seeing
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
per venire così presto a questo ha immaginato l'oscurità
vi ricordate di
la nerezza ruba le forme di tutte le regine

 



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