True love never waits
for the opening of the gates;
it rattles in its cage,
spills its blood over scribbled pages
and staining your sad prose,
spreads like a rose.
I misplaced my friends—
hands were shaken, chapters ended.
Call me what you will;
I could have kept them all and still
be stranded in this strange,
terrible place.
True love never waits
for a verdict from the Fates;
it shakes you to the bone,
throws you on the street and gives you a home.
Johanna Warren еще тексты
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