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The Star Dust

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  • © Copyright J Sunring
  • Обновлено: 20/08/2010. 5k. Статистика.
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      The Gothic style's
      dust from remote stars
      concentrated into her body -
      today loving and warm,
      tomorrow goes naughty,
      seeking for home,
      opens her vain
      to make a bloodrain
      dropping back to the Universe.
      
      Speaking with low voice
      he is translating a thought,
      trying to hold the plot:
      she's sleeping now and here.
      There is nothing dear
      more than this grasp of dust.
      What is for her to trust?
      Blooming and fresh,
      she's dreaming of rotten flesh.
      The bit of cosmic dust
      got an ultimate passion
      about dectruction and rust.
      
      -- Darling, you look like Death..
      he says.
      -- You really think so?
      (give her a hug)
      Flatter is what each one loves.
      She is back to her daily plug.
      She is back to her normal routine:
      lectures about the rules for dust to spin;
      about the charm of old brocken things;
      about the evolution chain
      and it's missing links.
      
      She wants to be missing as well.
      Who knows,
      what is the right way to spell
      the word holding bits of stardust together?
      Don't mention love.
      Your darling's breath moved a little feather
      of your fear.
      She is nearly near,
      she just had her poison,
      she's sleeping. Don't bother
      trying to wake her up -
      she is away so far...
      Your endless confusion,
      your fragile illusion,
      the dust of your star,
      your trap.
      
      
      Слушать в авторском исполнении
      * * *
      
      You said I will never get cold
      You said I will never get a flue
      Because you got
      your hands made out of pure gold
      and they have knitted a scarf for me,
      and the colour is blue!
      You said I should always wear your scarf,
      even although it's been covering just a bottom half
      of my long chicken's neck.
      I had the scarve's blue ends
      hanging over my back!
      
      You have knitted yet another one
      with a pure wool from Dolly, the ship.
      It's so warm, so perfectly done,
      and the color fits well for a hitch-hiker's trip.
      Oh, I love my red scarf!
      Oh, I so love my red woolen scarf!
      I would never agree to take it off:
      it's giving so much of tender caress, it's touching me soft
      Oh, I love my red scarf
      even more than I love my blue one!
      I have it turned over my neck
      with two red ends decorating my chest.
      I think I love it best.
      
      The tender blue scarf hidden under my red
      is keeping me warm even being upset,
      even being unable to show up,
      but my red says to people: "Stop moving! Stop -
      and look at me and listen
      what a wonderful song I got
      about two scarves on my neck,
      Listen my live voice,
      listen me on a soundtrack -
      wherever.
      I am always singing, because I am never cold.
      Because her hands of a pure gold
      made these scarves for me.
      Oh, I love them so much!
      
      * * *
      
      Broken-winged angel
      is laughing like mad
      because the sun is rising!
      Although they said it is a sunset!
      
      "Look, look! - what a sun today!
      the birds are singing!
      The light in the sky comes for us to stay -
      to brighten all meaning.
      Isn't it nice that not all of us are asleep?
      Isn't it nice?"
      
      The angels get our soul to peep
      looking for smiles...
      
      BTW angels - take your nimbs off - they gone out of fashion -
      find something else to choose
      And stop laughing like a horse in passion
      Dont make your wing an excuse...
      
      * * *
      
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  • © Copyright J Sunring
  • Обновлено: 20/08/2010. 5k. Статистика.
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