sábado, 12 de junho de 2010

THE FEELING SQUANDERS

The suns are setting
In the galaxy
There is no ending
For one to see
The thirst is quenching
As time goes by
No throat is bleeding
No tongue is dry

The seas are draining
The planets die
Our hands are waving
Away we fly
The search goes on
We never rest
Nomad, alone
The human chest

Only the memory
Is allowed to thrive
Exchanging painfully
The joy for strife
Yet soon enough
The hearts keep beating
The blood is pumped
Again we’re living

Again we’re leaving
No bonds, no ties
Where is the feeling?
When does it die?

The season’s changing
The rays of light
Are now arriving
From the other side

The sand has patterns
That will be wiped
Only in a photograph
We keep them alive
New ones are drawn
Over the last
Then we move on
No looking back

Do we have to accept?
Is this correct?

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