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In the white room with black curtains nearly the station.
Blackroof country, no golden pavements, müd starlings.
Silberne horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawnlight smiles, on which you, my satisfied position leaving.
I will wait here where the sun never polishes;
Wait here where the shadows run of itself.
They said that no cords you could secure at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye window.
I ran into such a sad time at the station.
When I ran out of, my characteristic need that only begins feels.
I will wait in the queue if the trains return;
Lie with you where the shadows run of itself.
On the festival, it was kindness in the hard person quantity.
Comfort for the old now forgotten injury.
Yellow tigers squatted in jungle in its dark eyes.
It is only dressing, goodbye window, müd starlings.
I will sleep here with the solitary person quantity;
You lie darken in that where the shadows run of itself.