Η ποίηση είναι η νοσταλγία μας για κάτι ακαθόριστο που ζήσαμε κάποτε μες στ' όνειρο Τ Λειβαδίτης

Η ποίηση είναι η νοσταλγία μας για κάτι ακαθόριστο που ζήσαμε κάποτε μες στ' όνειρο Τ  Λειβαδίτης
moonflower

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Κυριακή 4 Σεπτεμβρίου 2016

Chris De Burgh - The Traveller



In from the coast, riding like the wind and racing the moon,
Shadows on the road, dancing and a-weaving like a crazy fool.
A horseman is coming, death in his heart, for a rendezvous,
And where the traveller goes, nobody knows,
Where the traveller goes, nobody knows....

A candle in the night, fear on every face when he goes inside,
"Maybe he's on the run,"
Get back from the bar, a stranger in town is a dangerous sight,
"Maybe he's got a gun,"
"Bring a bottle of whisky landlord, I want to talk for a while,"
And where the traveller goes, a cold wind blows,
Where the traveller goes, a cold wind blows,
There is something in his eyes, something in his hands,
You can almost smell his revenge,
And whoever he is after, it will be disaster,


This man is gonna take him to the very end;

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