When you write boring the world ... Please
Delusions of young Byron
The days passed and the hours wore them
apathy and a huge need to change air
and renew hope,
reached bored because everything perfect:
I was tired of most sublime feelings,
and fell sick with the heart beating
yes, I was happy but that was my destination because I was
be accursed and a herald of the night.
longed my nostalgia, my loneliness and sadness
but I deny the arms of my beloved,
is only that men like me, sadly we can not subsist
to love and be loved. Then
of too much peace and clear skies
is a concern that severs us
is as if we were marked
to live perhaps in search of problems.
And I do not know what to do but somehow,
should escape my cruel maze
for happiness and the sun I am overwhelmed when sentencing, dragging my chains
delirium.
No, do not deserve all I have, I know
Gods
have been wrong with me because I just feel trapped and would flee
and I sink into the ocean Destiny!
And what hopes and dreams my restless soul now
who wanted to escape his coat benign
may rediscover in other distant
costs different landscapes in the glow of dawn.
Any adventure is what provokes me to combat
perhaps some obscure war where blood
and desert
merge into one inseparable thing.
And the bodies pile up in the besieged
sandy battlements
dogs and vultures eat up the besieged
while sobbing,
hopeless hope and destiny! Please
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