1. |
Where
19:58
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2. |
Her Ghost by the Piano
08:08
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A lonely widowed woman, by dust and shrouded fog weeps alone in her decrepit chair, clothed by her sheek white maidful drapery, cindered like a beaten shrew, reflecting in her cold, brittle room where she slept, and where she read at her desk with a flickering lamp. In her solitary despair , after her last frozen tear falls she bleeds into the cold, frigid bath. Her arms weak and fragile, she rests her head and all ends in cold, gritted stone.
As her ghost sulks by day to the sound of laughter, children play in the woods, every night she haunts in the room, where sick and desperate love once was, where all was once stood...
If not a beautiful young girl, much like her, to present into the dark few notes, a lullaby for the dearly hauntful.
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3. |
Strapicce
21:56
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In the shrill of her writhing nocturne by the brisk of herb and dusk, the evening trees, such cold brittle feathers cry of endless lone and bitter saturnine. She laughs and scars, tears edges of butterfly wings and mals of gritted canvas; the window lit floor parses and aches for winds through unnerving heartache. She lightly sings a melody and pulls her arms of trembled branches, loves and longs in helpless denial, and she quivered a name...
Brought to bear and petrichor of blood and sparrows' tears to fly amongst forlorn rain. A helpless, afflicted precessional towards amore and leaves, uttering few sonnets along death to moon.
Lash of her arm up to ever oak ash, she yells.... "Luciana!!!! DieVehr a lovet... I lucidly vain..." She whispers her sanity a blood rose clover of seven memories... and cries....
Oh love her autumn, said love and as the soles of Lucy cut a rite on her heel she sculpts swallowed touch and embraces. She watches her ache and despair, her evoked pallor, a captive chant to beg a lust, for just one moment....
Where were you... for three, drei, lone eclipses....
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4. |
Dress up for no one
22:03
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Ser
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