The rain is loud now, As if a giant feet arises from the clouds To step on the river under the bridge of my heart And disturb it in such a way That the sails of ships bend, And the water touches the bridge from below, Tickling it to sorrow… The rain is loud now, But actually, it has always been like this. You were there once, And I never felt it. But now, All there is Is this sorrow That tickles me from inside, As if it wants me to laugh, Yet doesn’t let me At the same time…
Old sofa,
The head of a moose on the wall,
And a grandfather's clock
That ticks and ticks away.
Everything has a voice when you're lonely.
And when that voice is not there,
The silence sings in his demonic voice
To your right ear
And then your left ear
As you sleep.
Old sofa,
The head of a moose on the wall,
And a grandfather's clock
That ticks and ticks away.
Everything has a voice when you're lonely.
The alarm,
An unfamiliar smell,
A sizzle in the frying pan;
Everything makes you shiver when you're lonely,
Reminding you how cold you are.
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