english,
Droplets hit the glass window.
The living room basked in the dim late afternoon light.
At the time,
The man then put down his Earl Grey
And read his life
He went from one line to another
Lines that will become his bread and butter
Then he stood up, paced back and forth and talked alone
Glanced at the paper, gestured in the air
The man must become another
To live another day.
The chilly air frosts the window panes.
The streetlights illuminate the living room.
The time has come,
The man now puts down his Jack
And reads his life
He went from one line to another
Lines that are his bread and butter
And bring love notes to his door
Drag him across the red carpet
Follow him at home
Stalk him in the shops
Scream at him on the street
Then he stands up, paces back and forth and stutters
Glances at the papers, the desperate notes on his desk
The photographs, the autographs
The man has become so many, got so many
He has forgotten his reasons
Sunlight will seep through the window awning.
Warm and cozy air will fill the living room.
The time will come
When the man will put down his Earl Grey
And will read his life
He will go from one line to another
To bring another man to life
He will stand up, pace back and forth, and speak
He will gesture in the air as if the other man was real
He will serve as a bridge
Between the other man and the rest who will watch him
He will tell of his story
Show the world what is real
In the face of imagination
Before the window turns mossy,
And the living room is covered in dust,
May the man find himself fulfilled
In the face of the other men he became
Or in the art that he has become.
Literary (Submission): twh.
Droplets hit the glass window.
The living room basked in the dim late afternoon light.
At the time,
The man then put down his Earl Grey
And read his life
He went from one line to another
Lines that will become his bread and butter
Then he stood up, paced back and forth and talked alone
Glanced at the paper, gestured in the air
The man must become another
To live another day.
The chilly air frosts the window panes.
The streetlights illuminate the living room.
The time has come,
The man now puts down his Jack
And reads his life
He went from one line to another
Lines that are his bread and butter
And bring love notes to his door
Drag him across the red carpet
Follow him at home
Stalk him in the shops
Scream at him on the street
Then he stands up, paces back and forth and stutters
Glances at the papers, the desperate notes on his desk
The photographs, the autographs
The man has become so many, got so many
He has forgotten his reasons
Sunlight will seep through the window awning.
Warm and cozy air will fill the living room.
The time will come
When the man will put down his Earl Grey
And will read his life
He will go from one line to another
To bring another man to life
He will stand up, pace back and forth, and speak
He will gesture in the air as if the other man was real
He will serve as a bridge
Between the other man and the rest who will watch him
He will tell of his story
Show the world what is real
In the face of imagination
Before the window turns mossy,
And the living room is covered in dust,
May the man find himself fulfilled
In the face of the other men he became
Or in the art that he has become.
0 comments: