This is a true story written as kinda-poem.
I want to get some experience in writing english stuff.
[no title]
In the town where i grew up
there's that station and that pub.
And every time i'm passing by
I see that old strange-looking guy
His skin looks raw, his ears are huge...
huge and hairy, somehow scary.
Most of the time, his eyes are closed...
not a single blink, he seems to think.
Or maybe he's just sleeping.
So he's asleep or he is not,
now i'm getting to the plot:
There is that noise he always makes.
a whirring, humming, snoring something.
There's that man who makes that noise,
and absolutely noone knows
if it stems from his voice
or after all from his nose.
a whirring, humming, snoring something.
it could be both from his voice and his nose
but noone really knows.
except of him i guess.
One day I wanted to ask him.
But I don't speak his language.
There's that man who makes that noise,
and absolutely noone knows
if it stems from his voice
or after all from his nose.
It sounds so calm and wise.
And with his always closed eyes,
the guy looks like buddha.
A russian buddha or something.
