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Array
(
[sid] => 154342
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Aputando (SV) - Aim (EV)
[time] => 2009-10-22 10:55:46
[hometext] => In this poem love connected to play with death. Love is the risk and deadly show sometimes.
[bodytext] => Por los movimientos habituales salgo a la escena, Es mi no el primer representación, pero será última, Ya que esta vez sé que tu mano temblará, Y el cuchillo pasará es más izquierdo, que debe, Habiendo arrancado mi vida pecadora. Estoy al pedestal, Habiendo preparado para el número, Espero, mientras comiences el show. Ti ves, cómo se bate mi corazón, Emitiendo el último golpe. ¿Así que esperas? Poco hay que se puede tragar con la última boqueada, Echa el cuchillo. Apuntado directamente en el corazón. Pasábamos muchas veces a través de esto, Muchas veces pensaba que este número será último, Pero la muerte, habiéndome acariciado por la mano fría, Retrocedía fuera, tomando consigo el sentimiento del miedo. Pero esta vez sé que juntos con el miedo me iré. Estoy al pedestal, Habiendo preparado para el número, Espero, mientras comiences el show. Ti ves, cómo se bate mi corazón, Emitiendo el último golpe. ¿Así que esperas? Poco hay que se puede tragar con la última boqueada, Echa el cuchillo. Apuntado directamente en el corazón. El primer cuchillo cerca de mi sien, Segundo - un poco es más alto del hombro, Pero hablan no en vano que el Dios quiere la Trinidad, Y esta vez tu mano temblará, Y el tercer cuchillo atravesará a mí el corazón. Hasta más muerta que viva, pero no irme, Esperando, mientras ti conseguirás, al fin, Aquí ella - la verdad desnudada de mi alma, Aquí ello - mi corazón sacado a la demostración. Apuntado así directamente en él, echa el cuchillo. Estoy al pedestal, Habiendo preparado para el número, Espero, mientras comiences el show. Ti ves, cómo se bate mi corazón, Emitiendo el último golpe. ¿Así que esperas? Poco hay que se puede tragar con la última boqueada, Echa el cuchillo. Apuntado directamente en el corazón. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - By habitual movements I step on the stage, It's not my first performance, but it will be last, Because this time I know that your hand will tremble, And the knife will fly by more to the left, than it should, Having torn off my fleeting life. Here I stand on a pedestal, Having prepared for number, I wait, while you will begin show. You see, how my heart pumps, Making the last knock. So what are you waiting for? Cos ain't no way to make up for the lost time, Throw the knife. Aim directly in my heart. Many times we passed through this, Many times I thought that this number would be my last, But death, having stroked me a cold hand, Receded away, taking away with itself a sensation of fear. But this time I know that together with fear I will leave too, So I close my eyes ‘cos everything will come to an end soon. Here I stand on a pedestal, Having prepared for number, I wait, while you will begin show. You see, how my heart pumps, Making the last knock. So what are you waiting for? Cos you can't make up for the lost time, Throw the knife. Aim directly in my heart. The first knife at my temple, The second - hardly above a shoulder, But knowingly say that the third time lucky, And this time your hand will tremble, And the third knife will pierce my heart. I'm chilled to the bone, but I'm not leaving, Expecting, while you, at last, will get your way, Here it is - the naked truth of my soul, Here it is - my heart is exposed. So aim directly in it, throw the knife. Here I stand on a pedestal, Having prepared for number, I wait, while you will begin show. You see, how my heart pumps, Making the last knock. So what are you waiting for? Cos you can't make up for the lost time, Throw the knife. Aim directly in my heart. So just throw the knife… [comments] => 1 [counter] => 258 [topic] => 2 [informant] => Alexa_Bachtel [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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