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lyric poetry

o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
era o outono do ano
conseqüentemente eu não posso
em seus regimentals ásperos
material da lua
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
deus
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer

 



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