Iako sam jucer obeca, ipak necu napisat onaj clanak, i to zbog vise razloga. Stvarno mi se ne da sad to prevodit, a i dosta je tesko, cini mi se glupo s obzirom na ovaj blog, malo neprikladno,mislia sam objavit na engleskom al sad ne znam sta je s wikipediom i copyrightom, nesto sam gleda i komplicirano je, neda mi se sad zezat s time i uvjetima raznoraznim.Pa zato, zao mi je, ali izgleda da necete cut nista o tome... Bolje da ni ne govorim o cemu se radi. Ali, da jos nesto napisem, evo jedne pjesme(poezija) koja mi se stvarno dopada, posebno treæa kitica(oznacit cu je kosim slovima), a i poslijednja. Pa, slusajte:
Funeral blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mouners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North,my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are no wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can come to any good.