Poezja

It's the tie that binds
It's the hand that ties
all the knots we have to cut

Come take me,
from these skies
to the green mountains
I hate these black drapes too,
my dear
These pale,white marble hands
with palms that bled
and led me here
I wished not these pillows
of thorns
but that is what destiny is

It's the dagger that shines
in your eyes,love
It's the pain I once felt
It is everything I ever wished
to not forget
But that everything is what
you always carry in your pockets
when you come to me

Love
My love
I wish not to wear
these black drapes
I wish not to cut
these ties that bind us
Nor the hand that tied us
Love,my love...
Take me,carry me
Far from these skies
to the green mountains of your soul