The storm
You my angel
talking in the wind
a windy storm raising up and down
the noice of the three let the echo remain
riding water of wild foam
sandstorms of diamants
through marrow bone
shaking bodies
hands holding on
convulsive
for the reason
not to let go
and fly away,
in the eye of the orkan
in the middle we meet
my angel be calm
in the middle we stay,
riding the storm
we will fly away
and never we will come back,
let the wind blow
without a storm
refilling new life
you my angel
talking to the wind
softly and quiet like now,
the rain will come
and the stillness stands
as the beautiful wrinkles of your face
come, my angel
lets lay down
you can cry now,
the storm of the fear
has been riding,
now to come
the breath of redemtion
Words by Adeleine
Read 818 times
Written on 2008-01-20 at 10:27
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