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Past (Lyric) by Dostoyevsky
An empty cup with no bottom,
In an dusty room, lies her empty soul,
Like a solitary apple thats rotten,
And me the lowly maggot hole,
Finally, slowly the bell tolls the time,
And a peasant sits with his heart in tatters,
Humming, lost to the towers chime,
The infinte illusion shatters,
Random images and thoughts in a fractal pattern,
Emotions revolving like colours in a wheel,
Thinking of my moon, my saturn,
The one that dosn't feel,
She, the empty cup, the room, illusion,
Is real to me, the impetious youth,
That i made her fit my delusion,
I cower from this hidden truth,
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Arithmetic Mean: 5.1666665
Weighted score: 5.0448236
Overall Rank: 6980
Posted: February 6, 2003 1:44 PM PST; Last modified: February 18, 2003 12:34 PM PST
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