28.11.2021
There's an old poetry
Not as ancient as the elder's tapestry
A little less colors,
So much less hours...
They found it in a cursed tomb
Dried roses and dusty bones
Two lovers under the moon, under the grave,
And grave is the tomb where they rest.
The poetry is in the stone,
Carved deep in the rock.
There will be no crumble down,
The poetry will live on.
You wonder what it says reader ?
You will found out sooner or later.
When struck the hour,
Because your servant is no fortune teller.
Our lovers didn't tell much fortune,
Fortunately they didn't need to.
They knew the poetry, they knew the words,
Their future was already told.
The sacred texts, the sacred words,
What's to be left of the gothic world ?
Dreamers, romantics and lovers
Give them bread but give them roses...
