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■ ​primul manifest al bucolismului etilic sau al etilismul bucolic, vă rog să mă credeÈ›i că nu mai È™tiu nici eu ![]()
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2011-03-30 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
Winding roads, of dust and sand,
Are spread across, throughout the land, Going further, into the sky, We just build'em, without knowing why. We travel the road, known as life, Full of passion, sadness and strife, We go one way, without looking back Without stopping, or going off track. And as we go, with this way to be, We try to look back, but cannot see, We cannot see, the way we came, Because it is gone, and all the same. Those who look back, filled with regret, Can see nothing, but emptiness and dread, "So why look back" you ask yourself, Well some of us, can't see forward for themselves. "But what is the point" you ask of me, To go further, and onward be, "There is no point" you cry in vain, But i say there's, wisdom, to learn and gain.
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