through the void of never ending there is peace descending on the morning as paper thin pall through the leaf of fog frozen there is light chosen to show as a path to the fall and we will follow as we can through the soft yellow dome and we will try and try our best to call this fall our home but winter will come so swiftly as we reache for warmth of the sun this year will soon be over another in the pale white begone
Pjesme Tomislava Ostojića