Demy Molentor Nov 2017

I remember the voices i wanted to hear more and more.
I remember our talks on that corridor’s old floor.
And I remember us watching stars while laying on pavement.
And I remember happiness being people, not a place or a moment.

Demy Molentor Oct 2017

Get under the blanket.
I’m starting to row.
Destination our is moon.
But wait for it to grow.

Don’t fall asleep just yet.
Try counting stars again.
For the winter is returnes soon.
And skies are brown then.

But the stream where we row,
He shines with the moon.
Can’t you the trees and flowers.
Some of roses still bloom.

As I row our boat gently,
You still stare at the skies.
With some immortalles in your hands.
Come on, now close your eyes.

Demy Molentor Oct 2017

there she goes again,
mad teacher.
she goes to a place
forbidden by the preacher.

a graveyard with no names
or any crosses.
she goes there with a
wreath of roses.

nobody visits, folks don’t care.
but let dead ones take the blame.
and the reasons they’re dead
just remember not a name.

“why would i even memorize it.
it’s not like he’s a relative of mine”
oh, now she’s adding something
to that ignorant guy’s sweet wine.

there was a funeral and then mad
teacher was tried.
they pushed some questions,
but they were not replied.

to hard to prove some truth, eh.
they were to used to faking.
oh, my mad teacher, that
freedom’s yours for taking.

Demy Molentor Oct 2017

empty, restless
kills, pushes, stops.
Someone’s lie’s and ignorance’s result.

Demy Molentor Oct 2017

Be your self, love your self.
Get away with it.
Give hug to your friend.
Get away with it.

Steal some kisses, say some truth.
Just don’t get caught.
Ride a train dancing in headphones.
Just don’t get caught.

Be my torch in this sunny darkness.
Bad and young.
Get astray on your homeward way.
Bad and young.

Miss their good nights tonight.
Sadness is your sentence.
Love someone who can’t be near.
Sadness is your sentence.

Demy Molentor Oct 2017

She is beautiful being,
She’s hiding in this loving dark
She sings plays piano, smiling .
And she lets winds inside her house.

Black lace skirt that reaches floor.
Grass eyes, grey hair and “the red Moscow”.
A heart of gold, a mind of ice.
A crimson sweater over that all.

Black kitty’s wandering the place.
There are dead flowers in a vase.
You think she is in pain, well it’s the case.
She’s weaving wreaths now with a sad face.

Demy Molentor Oct 2017

Let me bother you for a moment.
Does anyone wish good night?
Let me look in your restless eyes.
Does anyone wake you up?

And if they do, let me ask you,
If it’s still by any means all right.
Are they the ones you want to hear in the morning?
Are they the ones you want to close your eyes beside?

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