English Version
gothique et romantique

There is always a sun which lies down

Publié le 24 Août 2014

romantisch, gothique, romantique, gotisch, rêve, fantastique, fantastisch, sombre, dunkel, traum, romántico, gótico, soñado, oscuro, fantástico, romantico, gotico, sognato, scuro, fantastico, porte, eau, pierres, , eau, see, mer, cimetière, croix, poème d’amour, lettre d’amour, roman gothique, poème romantique, lettre romantique, poème gothique, gothique et romantique, larme, église gothique, mélancolique, mélancolie, nuit, night, dark, sombre, memories, souvenirs, melancoly

There is always a sun which lies down. One black night that one touches. Eyes, glance, letting itself deaden. By the languor of a time come to daze. The weakness to have believed to hold. The world enters the hands and to dazzle itself. Building bridges to be conquered. Firm eyes; remember. Sun come to dazzle us. These escaped hours. Carried to have forgotten them. You and me. A slow fox trot carried by water. Believing in eternity or pretending to imagine it. In your arms, speaking with words about love. These certainty for always. Wanting to believe in it. Without seeking to know. That there is always a sun which lies down. One black night that one touches. Arrival to put an end to date that one would like without end. Cold announcing a new following day. Detaching your fingers among mine. Extinguishing the glare of the eyes, our glances, while letting itself deaden. By the languor of a time come to daze. The hope gives to have hoped to hold. A piece of eternity without managing to maintain it. Firm eyes; remember. Sun come to dazzle us. Stopped time, this fixed feeling. That around us come to disappear. Noise, fury, fears of dying. There remains only silence. This insolence. To hold the life between our hands. To play with without end. Your eyes mutineers. Our tender. Locked Up that one could release. While coming to break the crystal of our eternity. To find this idea. That there is always a sun which lies down. One black night that one touches. One pitches, drunk. On a raft thrown to the river. One derives in one black night covered from white frost. You are cold, you tremble on this road buissonnière. To go until the end of the end. We are insane. There is not that the insane ones. To cling together, fiercely. Carrying the eyes, the glance, while letting itself deaden. By the languor of a time come to daze. The weakness to have believed to hold. The world enters the hands to dazzle itself. By building bridges on water to be conquered. One believed oneself immortal. One day, it was most beautiful.

le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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