Far beyond the sea of green/blue
from the passage long and dark through
either soon enough or long due
a buzz sums up the taps of shoes.
He would enter slightly overcast,
in overclothes, take a seat at last
and avoiding eye contact, kidding ungainly fill up the glass.
He won't deliver any news
while raining, raining on the loose;
like spring ice in its time to ooze
he'll drain the wine, rise, leave without excuse.
You will stay, too tired to sleep.
Soon the long and busy day'll creep,
cigarettes and steep headache, and a whole dos amigas' advice.
You will weaken spirits with juice,
turn a random page for no clues
till the stairway steps and till the spots of headlights diffuse.
He won't deliver any news...
Original: altwall.net/texts.php?show=tequilajazzz&number=39923
Original/audio: music.yandex.ru/album/58899/track/549171
Original/audio: kroogi.com/player/iframe/365362
Original/video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNh1kazPyOc