"Broken frames
Shattered glass
Like a monochrome film"
Burial place of souls
Back alleys crowded
Salty sand and soul dissolves
Out of control
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Out of focus
Blood and rythm
"As solid as a liquid monument"
Dark clouds
Promises of never coming rain
On the tied frame of a corpe
Technology
Machinery
Humanity it's all the same
Steam punk mice
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Night and day
What's the difference
Night and age
Based upon the same
Random order
Contorted, distorted
Doesn't make any difference at all
A figment, a fragment
Angular, circular
It's all the same
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Ask your senses; ask your inner, common sense.
A blog about life, love, poetry, biscuits, my bohemian wanderings in Coimbra and other stuff of no particular interest.
All sprinkled with sincerity, humour and a LOT of red red wine.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Looking out of my window
[incomplete]
Strong winds up on the stratosphere
touches not the world below
touches not the filth of the human living
scratches the clouds into shreds
allowing for a waning moon to peek
to witnesss the death of the senses
the depravation of the heart
the putrefaction of a dead hope.
Strong winds up on the stratosphere
touches not the world below
touches not the filth of the human living
scratches the clouds into shreds
allowing for a waning moon to peek
to witnesss the death of the senses
the depravation of the heart
the putrefaction of a dead hope.
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