2017.10.05.
Urban Yearning
Morning. Five hours and thirty minutes a.m. Leaving the clubs, urban young people go home. At this time that the most strange thoughts come to mind, but the main thing is not to fall into the zone of urban yearning.Road dust spills on the highway.
The sun rises - the cars are extinguished.
There are factories, pipes, soot, city.
This sweaty zone is controlled by the weather.
Yes Yes. The houses decorate with the wall patterns.
Dirty words fray the fences.
Word, word by word, oil burning in the fire.
There ' no smoke without fire, there is no suit without fire.
The flame burns in the distance.
Morning sirens destroy the dreams of love.
Freedom is dripping from the cranes in the cellars.
There's too much black sellers at every corner.
Old districts looks fashionable.
It's not difficult to understand the gangster bases.
Writers write cruel novels to readers.
Sluts crawl out to work at night.
Announcements on the screens tell tales.
All the new women on the screens are flashing their eyes.
Advertisements are colorful, fade, then turning gray.
The streets darken under thick clouds of smoke.
City, dust, city dirt.
We're drowning in the swamp, holding our hands.
Urban yearning loves me.
A lonely light will wake.
What to do when...? What to do when...?
What to do when...? What to do?
Yearning is calling somewhere far away.
The black cloud has entered, as a fragment, in thought, melts, melts.
Only the lightning beam, where it beats, doesn't disassemble.
It only takes the select ones. It pulls, pulls into the dead lights.
Living meltwater drips from the mountains.
The rain is pouring down against everyone and reminds:
It depends on the event on the street that will come true, play inside.
The cry in me says: 'Run.'
The bird hovers above the houses, it freezes in the stone.
A lonely car flew past quickly.
A slight smell of gasoline hit in the head.
The thoughts fly away like the wind, leave,
Swim over the night mountains.
The original moves we solve programs
Early in the morning, early in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, in the night.
Strangely, we're bound by a loop, but far from each other.
We're flooded with a tear of city night anguish.
City, dust, city dirt.
We're drowning in the swamp, holding our hands.
Urban yearning loves me.
A lonely light will wake.
What to do when...? What to do when...?
What to do when...? What to do?
Yearning is calling somewhere far away.
My morning walk gives strength to faith.
I'm a lonely fire, I want to burn, at least.
The light path indicates exactly at night.
The morning rays bind me firmly
With the urban world of garbage, swamp, mud.
Every scum ready to teach of life.
Anyone can, but not me.
I know what the 'dead water of the rain' is.
Gray dust lies on the dead stones.
Night streets scare people.
Fire in the hands, absolute rest inside.
A lonely light at night says with longing.
Anguish is calling somewhere far away.
Anguish is calling me somewhere in the distance.
Anguish is calling somewhere far away.
Anguish is calling me somewhere in the distance.
The streets woke up, the shadows returned to the houses.
Problems are debated, advertisements are troubled,
The bogs are caught, they are drowned in time.
Who believes in the fire - seeks and finds.
City, dust, city dirt.
We're drowning in the swamp, holding our hands.
Urban yearning loves me.
A lonely light will wake.
What to do when...? What to do when...?
What to do when...? What to do?
Yearning is calling somewhere far away.
Tibor from QS-FB