The path of our forgotten,
I've been standing there for years.
As if eyes riveted,
In mind flipping through pages.
Not the entire read and book,
That began to to read we,
Life is twisted like a whirligig,
Not only the surface, but also the pits.
I stand barefoot on the path,
Waiting, though it is too late.
You're stuck in a routine.
Stand...in morning negligee.
Love to dumbness, to moan.
(You wander among strangers.)
Or I'll see your eyes,
While there exhale is the breath?
Still waiting on the trail,
My blood will run cold in my veins.
And hear the song of the Swan,
And again has revived love.
