charles bukowski - luck | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• charles bukowski
• luck

once
we were young
at this
machine
drinking
smoking
typing
it was a most
splendid
miraculous
time
still
is
only now
instead of
moving toward
time
it
moves toward
us
makes each word
drill
into the
paper
clear
fast
hard
feeding a
closing
space.