The blackbird There is a blackbird perched on the column gate near that light. How long have you not cry? I do not remember, I swear. It 's all part of life, so as to leave no part at all. You to tie your throat, you narrows the stomach. not un'innondazione. It 's just a painful silence that bursts into silent sobs and pours a drop from time to time. Where are they over now? If my house is me, where should I go? I'm tired of time travel, the strides of a circle, an eternal spiral, which goes off and it turns turns turns only. Love does not turn. Love does not start and no end. Love is never forgotten. Love is truth and protection and search e. \u200b\u200b.. nothing. At the end love is nothing. And as we persist in repeating it, pretend to forget. And as we know it by heart, come on over. Until one step s'inciampa and what remains is a carousel that rotates. You're over there and every now and then that skim around you people go, the weather changes, forget love. I am a blackbird in the icy winter of this year, perched on the old column, the old gate of the old neighbor who spies. Until it is cold and takes me, I will stay with a freeze-memories and broken promises. Stupid stupid blackbird.
