The dreamer and the wine
Poet without a rhyme
A widow writer, torn apart by chains of Hell
One last perfect verse
Yet still the same old song
Oh Christ, how I hate what I have become
Take me home
My home was there at last, these meadows of heaven
The venture filled days more with every smiling face
Please, no more words
Those from a seventh hell
No more, please, tell me once my heart goes by
Take me home
Na focie
Z Klaudią ;]