3. The old house buries - 杰

the old house buriestranslated by PLSit is possible to write, of the dark imprisonment of the forest. the village, encircled by windreminiscing belongs to the sycamores and me, birthplace. upon which: I, blue flagstones, the absence of motherthe opportunity to touch is a possibility to slump, the perpetrator runs into an intelligent babygiving them a sneer. those that the evil does not have time to cover, eyes, breathsany sign of revenge that can lock down restlessness, sedimentingby the time it reaches the bottom, the singing is here too. clarinet, organ and borrowedpeat. those that don’t get to say goodbye drown in the sky, and the weakeninghurricane, the footsteps heading towards the sycamore stay away fromthe singing and the spinning of unplugged fan, the melodies come from somewheremother, father and the old house