Another painful day, trying to work my way forward ... And every thought I ever pulling back.
And time goes by, too thin for my hands that quavers of years can not hold him.
I remember little, my father made me laugh, killing unintentionally or not, I'm not so sure, Peter Dudas, singing
Melancholy ... It's in the smoke and they drown in alcohol dreams.
Bartender, until morning filled my glass ...
again tonight I bathe in this melancholy. With smoke. But no alcohol, no bartender to give me. With those two, I already tried it in vain. I try to save what I have dreams of drowning. Without laughing.
I want to find real, strong in this life that seems so cruel. The mountain stands in front of me and I think most high, steep, day by day. Or is the ground swallow me in from underneath the feet.
I'm wanting to flee. I am walled.
I want to take this road ...
Because my happiness is there there (maybe) in the woods near a lake at the end of this road témiscouatin ...
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