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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2009-10-24 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
The clock is but a death
with a white collar, a death which enters every nameless man's house to gather his riches and keep them close to its wooden chest. Death is but a snake disguised in all the clocks you've seen in your grandparents' house in all the clocks you've held verdantly like an infant who only cries because of hunger; the clocks which have lead you towards all the stranded rendezvous and those clocks who knew how to hide the hours in the patch pocket of time, when you were ill. The clock is but a death with two crosses around its neck. The alarm rings and soon we'll leave our dreams for an opaqueness just as distant... ... made of wood
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