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suicide poetry

la festivitŕ reale č stata fatta
quando ero si č rotto a Londra
l'aria č piena l'alba del e la molla
fino alla sua finestra dell'alloggiamento
la notte era nera e drear
glooms delle viv-quercie
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
quando ho rinviato al tramonto
dicami
le vecchie canzoni
le montagne sono gente silenziosa
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
veda che mi dň voi

 



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