autor:: Miroslav Kizák

rubrika:: poezia

Executed ...

Outside it’s chilling, it’s cold,
The fear is haunting me still,
My future for your greed was sold,
And the only thing that remained from me, is my iron will.

How long can I survive in this war,
War so wrestless, wreckless, timeless,
I don’t know if I can get so far,
When I’m so weak, defenseless.

Lies, lies, they are my gallows,
And from the others, it pains me, slowly it’s swallowing me,
I don’t know who it allows,
How can they all do this crime, they cannot see?

Come to me, you foolish blinded crowd,
Do what you want, kill me, you can choose how,
Shot, burnt, cut, I can stand it,
You can’t destroy my heart, my will, it can’t be executed.

napísanísané:: 12.10.2005

prečítalo:: 791 ludí

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