Langue d'arrivée: Anglais
I lie that I got over it.
I lie because I loved you.
I lie to everyone who asks me.
It hurts as if it is live wound.
It hurts and it has already been three hundred days
since I last looked at you.
Why are you asking me, mother?
Don't look at me that way,
she isn't mine anymore.
Save me from the night,
let the wine be poured
black like her black eyes.
I roam about, I'm looking for oblivion now.
Still there is hope smoldering in the heart,
a prayer for forgiveness.
I spend long nights awake.
Awake and I dream that you will come
to my embrace again.
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- 14 Octobre 2009 13:59
