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■ Pașadine în vers alb (73)
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2007-05-27 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
She walks a road of darkened grey
And steps of blood, depart the day. Her iced, blue lips; she's dead they say. But no; red thorns, they make her stay. They make her want and now she may Let all the darkness fade away. Her tears are now pleasure, and pain, Mixed in a symphony insane; With glamour, gothic in refrain... A song 'too lost in you' again. Your words - a razor, time's to blame And distance... and a wicked game. The passion is her dreadful prison And winter her beloved season, Her feelings beyond any reason; Her mind in labyriths of Eden; Her soul in Hell, she leads a legion Of evil toughts, seducing vision. A thrill she seeks in games of mind. She loves their eyes being so blind... But now she found one of her kind - In unreal realms, her toughts entwined By him, who always seems to find A way to keep her heart confined.
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