I did not expect you to come, I remember that sweltering summer, the thread of the three moors, and the cloud fleeing, and the rain was raining for the beginning tears were not for comfort, the pain, long known, not by us, with faith in incomprehensible fatalism we looked like quiet shadows, not your souls, until they barely defeated you we were scattered like wise captives, it was hard, behind the bars shimmering luridism flashed, the exotic was in the sight after the stripped shirt. You did not wait for me to come, remember this early autumn, the thread of the three moors was knit again, easily, money dry, to moan, eyes, with you we were playing, the time of the bearer comes, we love in more we give, something does not always reach us, it is difficult to get down from high, not before us are the stone dikes, they curtailed spills, love opens, wild elements, and there were no passwords for her, but water to wash away the gold from the sand to the naked.
