She has tangled hair, broken shoes and worn out shirts. She carries a bagful of sunshine and handful of seashells. All there is in her mind is the rusty voice of Henri Salvador scratching the grooves of her grey matter.
He has tangled thoughts, a worn out soul and a broken heart. He carries a handful of worms and a bagful of worries. All there is in his mind are a psychotic Russian mother’s chants and murders stroking the inside of his brains.
We are tangled, broken and worn out. We carry bagful of moments and handful of sadness. All of me and all of you are tangled in our minds.
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He has tangled thoughts, a worn out soul and a broken heart. He carries a handful of worms and a bagful of worries. All there is in his mind are a psychotic Russian mother’s chants and murders stroking the inside of his brains.
We are tangled, broken and worn out. We carry bagful of moments and handful of sadness. All of me and all of you are tangled in our minds.
*******************************************************************
posted by Y at 2:23 PM
2 Comments:
I really like the structure. Simple too, which is best. T'as un ben bon sense des mots, en plus.
merci, this is too much patting each other on the back... where are the real comments david?
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