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footprint poem

perchč cosě triste mio bello?
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
vi ricordate di
ascolti
gli archi del ponticello rosso
sto cantando voi
se avessi saputo lo stretto una prigione č amore
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscuritŕ
ci č una cittŕ, builded da nessuna mano
per allora senza
persino avrebbe suo scherzo

 



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