Wind n'a reçu aucun cadeau pour le moment
I wanna tell you a story.
A story about the road.
A story which starts with glory
And sudden turns to cloud.
It was a cold cold night of February
And the starts were shining low
The forest was out of berries
And the girl was about to show.
A lady was lying in a white bed
As the man been creating a plan
To get his stomach fed,
To take the carrots out of sand.
The girl came fast and…Continuer
Publié(e) par 26 janvier 2013 à 19:00
My head is full of everything around
My knees are strongly glued to the ground
My hands are shaking full of stones
My legs must have been lost their bones.
My hair smells like two days smoke
My double eyes has just made a stroke
My nose is something I don't really know
My ears are catching blueberries' snow.
My chest is moving up and down
My soul is trying to scream out loud
My innerself doesn't let me open the…Continuer
Publié(e) par 3 septembre 2012 à 16:34
What a wonderfull day
For to sit by the bay
And to feel the wind in your hair
Falling slowly on the old chair.
Ow, my lovely blowing mind
I'm feeling just like a child
Who wants to get a candy
And kiss his grey hair daddy
'Cause days are out of worries
And full of colourfull stories.
I kick the ball against the grass,
I watch the sparkling air in the glass
And I realize that day is short,
Publié(e) par 3 mai 2012 à 20:51 — 1 commentaire
Balloons are blowing all around
Whose colours give a wonderfull sound
And the moon seems smiling too
While giving slowly storms for you.
My balloon is small and fat
'Cause I've tried to interupt the map
Of my long long narrow line
Running fast above the time.
I've put the glass of wine inside
For to feel support and insight
And to dream about my head
While spending days in empty bed.
I've took a needle to…Continuer
Publié(e) par 8 mars 2012 à 19:38
Look up to the ground
To hear it’s breathing sound
Which comes among the snow
And tells itself to grow.
Cold and tinny finger falls
To feel the warmth of snowy balls
As dirty minds keeps staying far
And knocks itself on the door of bar.
It’s cold and dark around the sun
What attacks the mind as gun
Which can shoot that dirty mind
And keep it’s ground blind.
I’m still a child,
Who wants to be blind…Continuer
Publié(e) par 1 mars 2012 à 12:59 — 3 commentaires