Deep-pression -

THE NAMES OF THOSE WHO REST IN A BURIAL SOIL When whispering their names They come to me Their voices reverberate Among four white walls In four cold songs.. Here is hell Where the dreams are born But never come true …I call them Trying to forget the things That even never were! Trying forget those sad eyes Hidden in long wet hair! .. It never happened .. All still rest in soil .. And all this pain is useless As useless are their names That dwell white walls That dwell dark cells