poniedziałek, 13 lutego 2012

Ogród (i bar) - The Garden (and a pub)


*


*

In this rhythm
Of the monotonous phenomenon of melancholy
The mist trails

The thread of reason
Has been broken by the wind of fantasy
Words come easy

Oh my muse
White lily born Madame  Avant-Garde
The garden of lashes

The bathos of this phrase
Makes you nothing but laugh
And I'm not surprised

But tell me

What are you looking for
Girl
What do you still want
I don't know how to please you
After all
You know
How hard it is to find a flower today
Which would bloom with endearments
Naturally
And how much the world has changed
We can't just start romanticism
A gain

*

Clouds of smoke from cheap fags
Trailing above those wobbly heads
Dodge faces all around
Now raised to give a shit for a mo

They judge your outfit
Moves
And signs
Your knew hear

You look back boldly
To challenge their dull eyes
Life trundles slowly across this place
In its square-wheeled carriage

So here's the famous blues
Of a provincial pub

Everybody
Knows each other
As hell
They all just keep waiting
For something to happen
For a change

An old scruff coot
Sitting alone
With his head supported by a pint
For drowning black thoughts in

If you need a symbol
Of a provincial pub

Everybody
Knows each other
As hell
They all just keep waiting
For something to happen
For a change

*

1 komentarz: