Neverwhere
May 28, 2009
April 18, 2009
March 01, 2009
Will I always be here?
In your room Where time stands still Or moves at your will
Will you let the morning come soon Or will you leave me lying here
In your favourite darkness Your favourite half-light,
Your favourite consciousness Your favourite slave
In your room Where souls disappear Only you exist here
Will you lead me to your armchair Or leave me lying here
Your favourite innocence Your favourite prize
Your favourite smile Your favourite slave
I'm hanging on your words
Living on your breath Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here
In your room Your burning eyes Cause flames to arise
Will you let the fire die down soon Or will I always be here
Your favourite passion Your favourite game
Your favourite mirror Your favourite slave
I'm hanging on your words
Living on your breath Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here
Will you let the morning come soon Or will you leave me lying here
In your favourite darkness Your favourite half-light,
Your favourite consciousness Your favourite slave
In your room Where souls disappear Only you exist here
Will you lead me to your armchair Or leave me lying here
Your favourite innocence Your favourite prize
Your favourite smile Your favourite slave
I'm hanging on your words
Living on your breath Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here
In your room Your burning eyes Cause flames to arise
Will you let the fire die down soon Or will I always be here
Your favourite passion Your favourite game
Your favourite mirror Your favourite slave
I'm hanging on your words
Living on your breath Feeling with your skin
Will I always be here

words & music: Depeche Mode
image: Lady Door
September 17, 2008
September 08, 2008
Will...
Un mondiale nomadismo è cominciato nel buio:
sono gli alberi che vagano sulla terra notturna.
Sono i grappoli che fermentano in vino dorato,
sono le stelle che di casa in casa peregrinano,
sono i fiumi che il cammino cominciano a ritroso!
E io ho voglia di venire da te sul petto - a dormire.
sono gli alberi che vagano sulla terra notturna.
Sono i grappoli che fermentano in vino dorato,
sono le stelle che di casa in casa peregrinano,
sono i fiumi che il cammino cominciano a ritroso!
E io ho voglia di venire da te sul petto - a dormire.

Words: Marina Ivanovna Cvetaeva
Image: Lady Door





