a cluttered up room, in the corner,
Near the black dent of his shade,
Here's a man.
He's listening to the rustle of awoken
And Their in fant squeak.
And the expection,
Just like a shivering dove,
Flew into the abandoned appartment,
With a pile of lockers and bookcases.
The wings are quivering,
Blowing out the dusty veil,
Breaking down the mould of silence.
Writhing and standing stockstill,
Is creeping its lusty bodies.
The man is silent,
He bites his lips,
Looking at the broken window.