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I.
We received a letter from the Writers’ War Board the other day asking for a statement on “The Meaning of Democracy.” It presumably is our duty to comply with such a request, and it is certainly our pleasure. Surely the Board knows what democracy is. It is the line that forms on the right. It is the don’t in don’t shove. It is the hole in the stuffed shirt through which the sawdust slowly trickles; it is the dent in the high hat. Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half of the people are right more than half of the time. It is the feeling of privacy in the voting booths, the feeling of communion in the libraries, the feeling of vitality everywhere. Democracy is a letter to the editor. Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth. It is an idea which hasn’t been disproved yet, a song the words of which have not gone bad. It’s the mustard on the hot dog and the cream in the rationed coffee. Democracy is a request from a War Board, in the middle of a morning in the middle of a war, wanting to know what democracy is.
—E. B. White

II.
Ew ievcdere a eterlt ofrm eht Wesirrt’ Wra Odabr eht oetrh ayd isankg ofr a saetmttne no “The Inegnam fo Yoracmdce.” It ypmlrseuab si uor tydu to ypclmo twhi cuhs a rteequs, and ti si inlytcrea uor plreusae. Elusry the Odbar nwosk htaw dymcercao si. Ti si het enli that froms on hte trghi. It si eht ond’t in nod’t hesvo. Ti is the hole in eth stffued rhist thghuro hhiwc eth tdsausw wyolls slrticke; ti is eht etnd in the ghih hat. Dyomcearc si eth ecnerturr insupicso atht oerm ntha fahl fo the ppleoe rae rhtgi omer anht afhl fo teh imet. Ti is hte ignelef fo iarvycp in eht ogtinv hsootb, hte eglefin of momcnuoin ni het bsiiarler, het ngeeifl of ilyvaitt eweyerhevr. Merdccayo is a lrette to eth eidort. Mdeccyaro is eht csroe at hte ninbginge fo eth nthin. It si na edia hcwih sahn’t eneb dpdsrevio tey, a nogs teh rdsow fo ciwhh hvae ont oneg adb. Ti’s teh damtrsu on hte hot dgo dna hte ermca ni teh deoanrit efcoef. Omeradycc si a eetsurq mofr a Rwa Daobr, ni the eddlim fo a orinnmg ni the dimedl fo a wra, twangni ot nkwo wtha ccoedryam si.
—B. E. Ithwe

III.
ǝʍɥʇı ˙ǝ ˙q—
˙ıs ɯɐʎɹpǝoɔɔ ɐɥʇʍ oʍʞu ʇo ıubuɐʍʇ 'ɐɹʍ ɐ oɟ ןpǝɯıp ǝɥʇ ıu bɯuuıɹo ɐ oɟ ɯıןppǝ ǝɥʇ ıu 'ɹqoɐp ɐʍɹ ɐ ɹɟoɯ bɹnsʇǝǝ ɐ ıs ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ˙ɟǝoɔɟǝ ʇıɹuɐoǝp ɥǝʇ ıu ɐɔɯɹǝ ǝʇɥ ɐup obp ʇoɥ ǝʇɥ uo nsɹʇɯɐp ɥǝʇ s’ıʇ ˙qpɐ bǝuo ʇuo ǝɐʌɥ ɥɥʍıɔ oɟ ʍospɹ ɥǝʇ sbou ɐ 'ʎǝʇ oıʌǝɹspdp qǝuǝ ʇ’uɥɐs ɥıʍɔɥ ɐıpǝ ɐu ıs ʇı ˙uıɥʇu ɥʇǝ oɟ ǝbuıbquıu ǝʇɥ ʇɐ ǝoɹsɔ ʇɥǝ sı oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ˙ʇɹopıǝ ɥʇǝ oʇ ǝʇʇǝɹן ɐ sı oʎɐɔɔpɹǝɯ ˙ɹʌǝɥɹǝʎǝʍǝ ʇʇıɐʌʎןı ɟo ןɟıǝǝbu ʇǝɥ 'ɹǝןɹɐıısq ʇǝɥ ıu uıonuɔɯoɯ ɟo uıɟǝןbǝ ǝʇɥ 'qʇoosɥ ʌuıʇbo ʇɥǝ uı dɔʎʌɹɐı oɟ ɟǝןǝubı ǝʇɥ sı ıʇ ˙ʇǝɯı ɥǝʇ oɟ ןɥɟɐ ʇɥuɐ ɹǝɯo ıbʇɥɹ ǝɐɹ ǝoǝןdd ǝɥʇ oɟ ןɥɐɟ ɐɥʇu ɯɹǝo ʇɥʇɐ osɔıdnsuı ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ɥʇǝ ıs ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ˙ʇɐɥ ɥıɥb ǝɥʇ uı puʇǝ ʇɥǝ sı ıʇ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs sןןoʎʍ ʍsnɐspʇ ɥʇǝ ɔʍıɥɥ oɹnɥbɥʇ ʇsıɥɹ pǝnɟɟʇs ɥʇǝ uı ǝןoɥ ǝɥʇ sı ıʇ ˙oʌsǝɥ ʇ’pou uı ʇ’puo ʇɥǝ ıs ʇı ˙ıɥbɹʇ ǝʇɥ uo sɯoɹɟ ʇɐɥʇ ıןuǝ ʇǝɥ ıs ıʇ ˙ıs oɐɔɹǝɔɯʎp ʍɐʇɥ ʞsoʍu ɹɐqpo ǝɥʇ ʎɹsnןǝ ˙ǝɐsnǝɹןd ɹon ɐǝɹɔʇʎןuı ıs ıʇ puɐ 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɐ sɥnɔ ıɥʍʇ oɯןɔdʎ oʇ npʎʇ ɹon ıs qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ʇı ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ oɟ ɯɐubǝuı ǝɥʇ“ ou ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs ɐ ɹɟo bʞuɐsı pʎɐ ɥɹʇǝo ʇɥǝ ɹqɐpo ɐɹʍ ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ ʇɥǝ ɯɹɟo ʇןɹǝʇǝ ɐ ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı ʍǝ

IV.
˙ǝ ǝoɹsɔ ʇʇıɐʌʎןı;
Ʌuıʇbo ǝɥʇ ǝʇɥ bǝuo.
Sı ıubuɐʍʇ sbou ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ʇǝɥ;
Ʇǝɥ ıs ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs ǝɥʇ ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ɹon ɹqɐpo ˙ʇɐɥ ˙ɹʌǝɥɹǝʎǝʍǝ;
Ɥǝʇ oʇ oʍʞu ˙ɟǝoɔɟǝ ʇɥǝ ɹɟo dɔʎʌɹɐı ɥʇǝ ɥʇǝ sı ɟo ıʇ ɯɐʎɹpǝoɔɔ ıu ıʇ 'ɹqoɐp ʇɥǝ ıu ˙q—;
Ɐ ɥʇǝ;
'ɐɹʍ uıɟǝןbǝ;
Is oɟ ʇuo;
Npʎʇ ɐ ǝʇʇǝɹן ɥɥʍıɔ qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ʇɥǝ;
Is ɟo ʇɥʇɐ oɟ ɹɟoɯ.
Ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı oʇ ǝoǝןdd ɐʍɹ ǝɐʌɥ;
ʍɐʇɥ ןɥɐɟ puɐ.
ןɥɟɐ ʍospɹ;
ʎɹsnןǝ ɥǝʇ ʇɐ puʇǝ ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ ʍsnɐspʇ ɔʍıɥɥ;
Iʇ ǝɥʇ;
Ǝbuıbquıu ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs uı.
˙ʇǝɯı ʇɥuɐ ɐup.
Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ɥıɥb ǝɐɹ;
Ɐ ɟǝןǝubı ɥʇǝ ǝʇɥ;
'snbǝǝʇɹ ןɟıǝǝbu ˙ʇɹopıǝ uıonuɔɯoɯ ɥɹʇǝo ɥʇǝ osɔıdnsuı oɯןɔdʎ;
Oʎɐɔɔpɹǝɯ ˙ıs ǝʇɥ ou ɯɹɟo ǝʍɥʇı obp ɐ sı ɐɥʇʍ oɟ sı uı ɯɹǝo ǝɥʇ.
Ʇɥǝ oɹnɥbɥʇ s’ıʇ ʇ’pou ǝʇɥ;
Ʇsıɥɹ ʇɥǝ bɹnsʇǝǝ ıs ıs uı ıu oɟ.
Ʇı ɥǝʇ.
Ɯɐubǝuı ıɥʍʇ ʇ’puo 'ɹǝןɹɐıısq.
ʍǝ ʇ’uɥɐs ɐǝɹɔʇʎןuı ʇןɹǝʇǝ sɥnɔ ɐɹʍ ʇıɹuɐoǝp qǝuǝ ǝɥʇ oɟ ʇɐɥʇ sןןoʎʍ ˙oʌsǝɥ ɐ sı ɯıןppǝ bʞuɐsı oɟ;
Ʇı ʇı bɯuuıɹo oɐɔɹǝɔɯʎp pǝnɟɟʇs ˙ıs ɐɥʇu ʇoɥ ɥǝʇ ıs ɐ 'ʎǝʇ ıbʇɥɹ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ǝʇɥ ıu ɹɐqpo.
Ǝןoɥ pʎɐ ˙qpɐ.
ןpǝɯıp ıןuǝ ɐ.
Ʇɥǝ ǝʇɥ ɹǝɯo uo ˙uıɥʇu ʇo ˙ıɥbɹʇ ıʇ;
Ǝɥʇ“ ɐ ɥıʍɔɥ ɐıpǝ uo ɐɔɯɹǝ uı ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ;
Is oıʌǝɹspdp oɟ ʇǝɥ.
Iʇ oɟ.
Sɯoɹɟ 'qʇoosɥ ɐu ɹon ˙ǝɐsnǝɹןd ɐ ǝɥʇ nsɹʇɯɐp.
Ʞsoʍu

V.
˙ʇɐɥ ɥɥʍıɔ ʇɐ oɟ. Ʇı ʇ’uɥɐs
ɹɟo puʇǝ ɯɹɟo ıs oɟ ǝʇɥ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ɐ ɐɹʍ ɥǝʇ ɐ oıʌǝɹspdp
˙ʇɐɥ ıʇ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ɟǝןǝubı ǝʍɥʇı ıu ıɥʍʇ
ıu ɹɟoɯ. Ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ɥʇǝ bʞuɐsı
ɹon ıʇ ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ uıonuɔɯoɯ ǝɥʇ. Ʇɥǝ ɐɥʇu ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is

ıubuɐʍʇ ıu puʇǝ ıu 'ʎǝʇ
qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ɥʇǝ osɔıdnsuı ʇ’pou ʇןɹǝʇǝ ɐɥʇu ɐ. Ʇɥǝ
ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ıs oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ 'qʇoosɥ
ǝɥʇ ıs ʇɥʇɐ ǝʇɥ; Ʇsıɥɹ uı pǝnɟɟʇs ǝʇɥ
˙ʇɐɥ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs uıonuɔɯoɯ ɯɹǝo oɹnɥbɥʇ
˙ǝ ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs sı ʇɥuɐ ou ʇo ɐ

uı. ˙ʇǝɯı ɐɥʇu ıs ʇo oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ oɟ oʇ puɐ. ןɥɟɐ ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ ɐ ʇןɹǝʇǝ
˙ǝ sı ıʇ puʇǝ ʇɥǝ
qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ןɟıǝǝbu ǝɥʇ ǝʇɥ ɹǝɯo ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is
ǝʇɥ; 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɯɹǝo qǝuǝ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ pʎɐ
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ǝʇɥ oɹnɥbɥʇ ɐ ǝʇɥ ǝɥʇ

uıɟǝןbǝ; Is ɟǝןǝubı s’ıʇ ʇıɹuɐoǝp ıןuǝ
ɹon ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ ǝʇɥ; 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɥʇǝ sı ɥǝʇ. Ɯɐubǝuı oɟ
ɐ ˙ʇɹopıǝ ıןuǝ ɹǝɯo ıʇ; Ǝɥʇ“
ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ıʇ ɥǝʇ ǝʇɥ ɯɹǝo ɐ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ɥʇǝ ǝɐɹ; Ɐ sɥnɔ ɐ ǝɥʇ
؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ɯɹǝo s’ıʇ uı ʇןɹǝʇǝ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ˙uıɥʇu

bǝuo. Sı ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ʇɥuɐ uo
ıu ןɥɐɟ uı ʇɐɥʇ bʞuɐsı ıu ʇo
ǝɥʇ dɔʎʌɹɐı ɟo uo ɐıpǝ
ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ˙ʇɐɥ sı ou ıu ʇı 'ʎǝʇ
bǝuo. Sı ʇɥǝ uı ʇıɹuɐoǝp oɟ
ǝoɹsɔ ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ʇɥǝ oɹnɥbɥʇ ıɥʍʇ ɥǝʇ uo

ǝʇɥ ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ oɟ ıbʇɥɹ ǝɥʇ
ɥʇǝ ɟo ʇuo; Npʎʇ oɟ ʇɐ qǝuǝ ˙qpɐ. ןpǝɯıp
ʇʇıɐʌʎןı; Ʌuıʇbo ɟo uı ɯıןppǝ ɐu
ʇʇıɐʌʎןı; Ʌuıʇbo ǝɥʇ oʍʞu ɥʇǝ ɥʇǝ; 'ɐɹʍ oɟ ʇɥʇɐ
ʇɥʇɐ ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ɟǝןǝubı sı ɹɐqpo. Ǝןoɥ
ʇɐ ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp oɟ ʇı ıu ʇo ɹon

sbou ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ǝoǝןdd bɹnsʇǝǝ ıs
ǝɥʇ ɹon ʇuo; Npʎʇ ˙ıs obp sı pǝnɟɟʇs
ǝɥʇ ןɥɐɟ ɥʇǝ ɐɥʇʍ oɟ
oʇ ɥǝʇ sı ʇ’puo ʇıɹuɐoǝp uı ɐ
ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ou ʇ’pou ǝʇɥ uı
˙ʇɐɥ ǝɐʌɥ; ʍɐʇɥ ɥʇǝ ɹǝɯo ɐ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ ǝɥʇ

dɔʎʌɹɐı ןɥɐɟ uı sı pǝnɟɟʇs
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ ıs ɹɟo ɥɥʍıɔ uı sןןoʎʍ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ
ɹɟo ıʇ ɥʇǝ ɐ ʇo
ɹɟo ǝoǝןdd uıonuɔɯoɯ ıs ɥǝʇ. Ɯɐubǝuı ɐ ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is
ıs ʇ’pou qǝuǝ 'ʎǝʇ pʎɐ
ǝʇɥ ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ oʇ ʍsnɐspʇ ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ɥıɥb ʇǝɥ. Iʇ
V

Per certo i bei vostr’occhi Donna mia
Esser non puo che non fian lo mio sole
Si mi percuoton forte, come ci suole
Per l’arene di Libia chi s’invia,
Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria)
Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole,
Che forsi amanti nelle lor parole
Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia:
Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela
Scosso mi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poco
Quivi d’ attorno o s’agghiaccia, o s’ingiela;
Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco
Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose
Finche mia Alba rivien colma di rose.
IV

Diodati, e te’l diro con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch’amor spreggiar solea
E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea
Gia caddi, ov’huom dabben talhor s’impiglia.
Ne treccie d’oro, ne guancia vermiglia
M’ abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che’l cuor bea,
Portamenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d’ amabil nero,
Parole adorne di lingua piu d’una,
E’l cantar che di mezzo l’hemispero
Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna,
E degil occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco
Che l ‘incerar gli oreechi mi fia poco.
oɟ. Ʇı ʇ’uɥɐs
ɹɟo puʇǝ ɯɹɟo ıs oɟ ǝʇɥ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ɐ ɐɹʍ ɥǝʇ ɐ oıʌǝɹspdp

˙ʇɐɥ ıʇ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ɟǝןǝubı ǝʍɥʇı ıu ıɥʍʇ
ıu ɹɟoɯ. Ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ɥʇǝ bʞuɐsı
ɹon ıʇ ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ uıonuɔɯoɯ ǝɥʇ. Ʇɥǝ ɐɥʇu ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is

ıubuɐʍʇ ıu puʇǝ ıu 'ʎǝʇ
qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ɥʇǝ osɔıdnsuı ʇ’pou ʇןɹǝʇǝ ɐɥʇu ɐ. Ʇɥǝ
ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ıs oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ 'qʇoosɥ

ǝɥʇ ıs ʇɥʇɐ ǝʇɥ; Ʇsıɥɹ uı pǝnɟɟʇs ǝʇɥ
˙ʇɐɥ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs uıonuɔɯoɯ ɯɹǝo oɹnɥbɥʇ
˙ǝ ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs sı ʇɥuɐ ou ʇo ɐ

uı. ˙ʇǝɯı ɐɥʇu ıs ʇo oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ oɟ oʇ puɐ. ןɥɟɐ ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ ɐ ʇןɹǝʇǝ
˙ǝ sı ıʇ puʇǝ ʇɥǝ

qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ןɟıǝǝbu ǝɥʇ ǝʇɥ ɹǝɯo ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is
ǝʇɥ; 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɯɹǝo qǝuǝ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ pʎɐ
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ǝʇɥ oɹnɥbɥʇ ɐ ǝʇɥ ǝɥʇ

uıɟǝןbǝ; Is ɟǝןǝubı s’ıʇ ʇıɹuɐoǝp ıןuǝ
ɹon ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ ǝʇɥ; 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɥʇǝ sı ɥǝʇ. Ɯɐubǝuı oɟ
ɐ ˙ʇɹopıǝ ıןuǝ ɹǝɯo ıʇ; Ǝɥʇ“

ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ıʇ ɥǝʇ ǝʇɥ ɯɹǝo ɐ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ɥʇǝ ǝɐɹ; Ɐ sɥnɔ ɐ ǝɥʇ
؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ɯɹǝo s’ıʇ uı ʇןɹǝʇǝ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ˙uıɥʇu

bǝuo. Sı ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ʇɥuɐ uo
ıu ןɥɐɟ uı ʇɐɥʇ bʞuɐsı ıu ʇo
ǝɥʇ dɔʎʌɹɐı ɟo uo ɐıpǝ

ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ˙ʇɐɥ sı ou ıu ʇı 'ʎǝʇ
bǝuo. Sı ʇɥǝ uı ʇıɹuɐoǝp oɟ
ǝoɹsɔ ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ʇɥǝ oɹnɥbɥʇ ıɥʍʇ ɥǝʇ uo

ǝʇɥ ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ oɟ ıbʇɥɹ ǝɥʇ
ɥʇǝ ɟo ʇuo; Npʎʇ oɟ ʇɐ qǝuǝ ˙qpɐ. ןpǝɯıp
ʇʇıɐʌʎןı; Ʌuıʇbo ɟo uı ɯıןppǝ ɐu

ʇʇıɐʌʎןı; Ʌuıʇbo ǝɥʇ oʍʞu ɥʇǝ ɥʇǝ; 'ɐɹʍ oɟ ʇɥʇɐ
ʇɥʇɐ ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ɟǝןǝubı sı ɹɐqpo. Ǝןoɥ
ʇɐ ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp oɟ ʇı ıu ʇo ɹon

sbou ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ǝoǝןdd bɹnsʇǝǝ ıs
ǝɥʇ ɹon ʇuo; Npʎʇ ˙ıs obp sı pǝnɟɟʇs
ǝɥʇ ןɥɐɟ ɥʇǝ ɐɥʇʍ oɟ

oʇ ɥǝʇ sı ʇ’puo ʇıɹuɐoǝp uı ɐ
ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ou ʇ’pou ǝʇɥ uı
˙ʇɐɥ ǝɐʌɥ; ʍɐʇɥ ɥʇǝ ɹǝɯo ɐ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ ǝɥʇ

dɔʎʌɹɐı ןɥɐɟ uı sı pǝnɟɟʇs
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ ıs ɹɟo ɥɥʍıɔ uı sןןoʎʍ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ
ɹɟo ıʇ ɥʇǝ ɐ ʇo

ɹɟo ǝoǝןdd uıonuɔɯoɯ ıs ɥǝʇ. Ɯɐubǝuı ɐ ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is
ıs ʇ’pou qǝuǝ 'ʎǝʇ pʎɐ
ǝʇɥ ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ oʇ ʍsnɐspʇ ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ɥıɥb ʇǝɥ. Iʇ
Aliq Aug 2020
Verse I:
Your eyes end up the war on my mind,
And returned to those I left behind.
I wasn't thinking that it would be so hard,
But you showed me a red card.

Verse II:
As winter came suddenly over the summer,
As love has been broken, leaving a ******.
And in the end, so left, our dreams
Were revived in a scathing, terrible scream.

Chorus:
This torture again. Almost unreal.
You was so beautiful. Extremely real.
And we have to respond in a lovers' trial
Facing a world in complete denial.

Verse III:
Yes. I try my best to catch our past,
But my hands have already full of dust.
** cercato dimenticare, distrutta dal fuoco,
Ma, purtroppo, nulla puo riempire quel vuoto.

Verse IV:
I'm ready to get the new opportunita,
And I'll always be able to defend verita.
I have nothing to lose and have nothing to get.
You see - it's all right I'm keep smiling. But yet...

Chorus:
This torture again. Almost unreal.
You was so beautiful. Extremely real.
And we have to respond in a lovers' trial
Facing a world in complete denial

— The End —