Your thoughts,dreaming on a softened brain,like an over-fed lackey on a greasy settee,with my heart´s bloody tatters I´ll mock again;impudent and caustic, I´ll jeer to superfluity.
of Grandfatherly gentleness I´m devoid,there´s not a single grey hair in my soul!Thundering the world with the might of my voice,twenty-two-year-old.
Gentle ones!You lay your love on a violin.The crudle lay their lov in a drum.but you can´t, like me, turn inside out entirely,and nothing but human lips become!
No hay comentarios.:
Publicar un comentario