Walking around town snow falling down the road leaving footprints
Darkest hour of the night when even drunk people are sleeping or near-awakening
That time when you can hear the most rare and beautiful music coming from the
Few enlightened windows, emanating from the deep, warm unseeable rooms
Busy as always staring carefully listening to the records I carefully chose to listen to
Broad limelight as sharpless ventilator blades keep reminding me she does not
Love me as they spin and spin at a very high velocity so they produce enough air
Fulfilling the space with wide, fresh flows of air
Grown out outcast duck becomes a swan
Singing the most reclusive songs in the most reclusive language
There is nothing beautiful when everything's so majestic, gorgeous, bathed in unlimited splendor
There is nothing beautiful except your tiny little spoiled hand looking for help, in mine
At the crossway of all of those people's lives, I figure myself, once more, waiting
Waiting for what
Waiting for you
To realise
The things I haven't
The things I could'nt bare
The things I try to say
With your own little mouth
Spitting that White Light I need
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