Strofy do poduszki, Mariusz Parlicki

The oil in the lamp burns down, the flame glows before it goes out, the blackness of the earth and sky merges into one, the last tales will soon resound from lips, the blackness of the earth and sky merges into one, the last tales will soon resound from lips. The crescent moon will strike the rivers, silver will spread across the water, and everything will fall into a deep sleep, dreaming that it will wake up as it does every day. The crescent moon will strike the rivers, silver will spread across the water, and everything will fall into a deep sleep, dreaming that it will wake up as it does every day. The dream will come. Perhaps it will be the last dream, perhaps one of many. Never mind, with faith in the morning, fall asleep, and wrap yourself in me, like a bed, with faith in another morning, fall asleep, and wrap yourself in me, like a bed. The crescent moon will pierce the rivers, silver will spread across the water, and everything will fall into a deep sleep, dreaming that it will wake up as it does every day. The crescent moon will pierce the rivers, silver will spread across the water, and everything will fall into a deep sleep, dreaming that it will wake up as it does every day. Mariusz Parlicki