where we are going
it smells of forest and moist
of ocean and sorrow,
of grass being mowed
the wind would run through us
like a wild cry of sadness
and spread the scent
of red asters
sense
the smell of distance
it's the dreadful stench of anguish
the smell of agony, of pain
it's obvious that there is no continuation
we should forget and never start the recollection
we will feel better
it will be better
(New Name) Thar She Blows! еще тексты
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