maandag 11 augustus 2008

OILING THE RUSTED WHEEL

Breathing the dust in the city of rust
Her wrinkled shirt says it all
Pull out the thorn sticking out of my chest
Hoping the pouring won’t last

If I could break through the membrane
I’m sure we can reach higher water
Cherished her face
golden flower shining bright
Provided the darkened room with light

I’m jumping on one leg
Hoping for this joy to last
Lend me a hand
Sever me from discontent
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