A smoke in the Oracle of sky
races first wore on
the pace of the procession. A raven fights the
canvas of the sky tweets explaining the dream-book,
voices of women, quiet streams, unique beauties.
In this theater cyanide, melanoma on long hair in
the opinion which is considered unique. Silence
knows that lips are guarded, that the storks burst
in the joy and in the eyes of the young girls, slugs
to chew before the eyes the moist sorrow, the heart
that beats ticking unprofitably. Full moans approaching
from the pitch almost childless, almost unprotectable.
Speak in front of the sunrise, speak in front of the virtue
of the sun. A moment does not reach the mind of the
stork to put on sleep the stars and the bow of the day,
the navel of the world can't hold the bronze eagles.
Oracle of water and stone, indirect, rhetorical words
let not stay the affirmation in the locked trunk let all the
knees to bend in front of the dead jasmine. Hapless
nature that gained in your road souls of navigators.
Sweet, sweet whispered me to cry next to a cliff for the fairy tale to grow.
Fotios Panos
the pace of the procession. A raven fights the
canvas of the sky tweets explaining the dream-book,
voices of women, quiet streams, unique beauties.
In this theater cyanide, melanoma on long hair in
the opinion which is considered unique. Silence
knows that lips are guarded, that the storks burst
in the joy and in the eyes of the young girls, slugs
to chew before the eyes the moist sorrow, the heart
that beats ticking unprofitably. Full moans approaching
from the pitch almost childless, almost unprotectable.
Speak in front of the sunrise, speak in front of the virtue
of the sun. A moment does not reach the mind of the
stork to put on sleep the stars and the bow of the day,
the navel of the world can't hold the bronze eagles.
Oracle of water and stone, indirect, rhetorical words
let not stay the affirmation in the locked trunk let all the
knees to bend in front of the dead jasmine. Hapless
nature that gained in your road souls of navigators.
Sweet, sweet whispered me to cry next to a cliff for the fairy tale to grow.
Fotios Panos