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this chill knows me as the root knows the wet or the petal... well, i forget the line

from a poem of John, which I had to follow


oh, these nights in my teen time, when I had been this chill, coming in and out from a crack in the window

passing unnoticed the threatening hand of the vile knight Hetz fon Berlihingen and his downward face as if he's hanging all night long on the window glass

flying over the earth with my dreams... oh, you don't understand what is dreaming like chill

it is life

which whispers you "Don't awake, don't awake, but follow me"

it is not like following Peter Pan to the land of Never

neither settling down and building a house in the land of Always

it's a chill, it is me, it's a chill, I am here

and blue pines of the Druskininkai resort give me air to breath for brief moments in sweat, blood and tears of life

let me fly, let me follow the turrents of breeze when I'll sadly awaken

let my guilt dissapear in sand like a sweat washed by sea

because if I'll awake for Real

I'll be lost, I will loose this breeze

now I have to say it Good bye,

thanks for carrying me To Morrow



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