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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-03-18 | [Aestu textŭ lipseashti s-hibâ dghivâsitŭ tu english] | Ânyrâpsitŭ tu bibliotecâ di John Willy Kopperud It seems so long ago, Nancy was alone, looking ate the Late Late show through a semi-precious stone. In the House of Honesty her father was on trial, in the House of Mystery there was no one at all, there was no one at all. It seems so long ago, none of us were strong; Nancy wore green stockings and she slept with everyone. She never said she'd wait for us although she was alone, I think she fell in love for us in nineteen sixty one, in nineteen sixty one. It seems so long ago, Nancy was alone, a forty five beside her head, an open telephone. We told her she was beautiful, we told her she was free but none of us would meet her in the House of Mystery, the House of Mystery. And now you look around you, see her everywhere, many use her body, many comb her hair. In the hollow of the night when you are cold and numb you hear her talking freely then, she's happy that you've come, she's happy that you've come.
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Casa a Literaturiljei, a poeziljei shi a culturâljei. Ânyrâpsea sh-hârsea-ti di articoli, eseuri, prozâ, poezie clasicâ sh-antritseri (concursuri). | ![]() | |||||||
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