Тантрический вечер 5

Tongue golden waste of midnight grace. I find you gentle in the place. Your ritual story, step and stay. I'm slowly breathing every day. I see the bounds of endless green. The song that turns from soft to dreams. Each drift a promise left unseen. And let the questions be it seen. And still the truth begins to say. Each word you taught you somewhere. You make the stars begin to stay. And turn away the empty page. I breathe your breath in paper time. A story gently just behind. No destination to be fine. You be the person in my chimes. And still the truth begins to go. And still the night that breaks the flow. I made a promise, chose to show. And you, the path that only grows. And still the truth begins to go. And still the peace begins to show. And if your breath, it doesn't go. And still the truth begins to go. Your perfect phrases, spots and plain. Each word a soft, a restless rain. Your breath begins the sweet, full pain. The kind at first that calls me pain. And still the truth begins too strong. Each one to earth and be too strong. I'm made of gold to feel the song. And turn away the peace