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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-08-18 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
I take the bus that goes to you, my friend!
Now I know the way will never bend, Since I see The poppy lace that grows in France for me So red by the field That it is like a shield. I taste the bread that is for you, my girl! Grain seeds and poppy seeds together whirl In the rain. They contaminate each other on a German plain To make you dream And not only seem. I drink the wine my grandpa made for you! He put in it lime blossom bright and new In Tokay. Soon you can see profligate stars deploy And break black horses When the day closes. I dream the dream that comes from you, my boy! Veils of light surrender in shy joy While they sing The aching, sweet song of the windy ding That hovers in you, My tall night blue. It is so good that you exist, my heart! There, somewhere in the eastern part Of the world, You cut the truth with a smiling, silent sword And give it to me So that I can be.
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