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Пишет setchemist (![[info]](http://lj.rossia.org/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} setchemist)@ 2009-09-10 17:35:00 |
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| Музыка: | Slayer - Seasons in the Abyss |
one more text
слегка сумбурно, но все же
Sweet Naphta
The sea was wet as wet it was,
The sands were dry as dry.
You couldn't see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky,
No birds were flittering across -
There were no birds to fly.
She sells the sea shells by sea shore,
Near the offshore platform
Of "Shell", for men in uniform -
Americans, for sure.
She's Negro from Nigeria,
The poorest area.
Taste the Liquor
That smells like eternity;
Test the eager
Souls until they torn and dim...
She was fishmonger in the past,
As her compatriots do.
Now Poissons from shadow cast
Become the Pompadours,
And fishermen are turning to
Fishers of men at last.
Two shadows walked in shiny gloss,
As black as Tarrasch' rook.
Their speech was worn like dental floss,
And Oysters feared their hook.
And Walrus held His only Book,
And Carpenter - His Cross!
Taste the Liquor
That smells like eternity;
Test the eager
Souls until they torn and dim...
Saint little girl in lingering boat!
If I could melt your heart,
Three-chambered. Cast my wooden coat
Aside. Get rid of smart.
Could tear the chicken skin apart,
And web on limbs of toad.
Despite the doubtfulness of leap
Of talents, taken in
Account, biting lower lip,
I cherish without keen
Life as the passing wakening
From the eternal sleep.
