Monday, February 12, 2007

A Man Called Sun, by The Verve

...three months ago in a strange white night:


The last cup of an argentinian red wine(a generous form of intoxication) is in my hands: insomnia is killing me. The future seems to be abolished in lengthy daydreams where I have walled myself off from the world. I remember your skin: a folded presence of time: I admired the evaporated fecundity of magic, the traces of the elemental forest: an illusion stumbled across the red wine...

I never had the luck to construct your inner weather...



No comments: