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death poetry

pensées par ma tête
ils peuvent parler de l'amour dans une petite maison
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
voyez, ils retournent
un stylo d'acier
a arqué l'inondation
ce qui nous fera maintenant
le soleil et vent et battement de mer
faites les garçons et les filles vont toujours
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
hauts murs et énorme
laissez-moi être triste
comme égaliser tombe
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent

 



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