16. Decembris 2003

• 16.12.03 10:11
• Šorīt skan: This Mortal Coil.The Jeweller
  
  The jeweler
  Has a shop
  On the corner of the boulevard
  In the night,
  In small spectacles,
  He polishes old coins
  He uses spit and cloth and ashes
  He makes them shine with ashes
  
  He knows the use of ashes
  He worships God with ashes
  
  The coins are often very old
  By the time they reach the jeweler
  With his hands and ashes
  He will try the best he can
  He knows that he can only shine them
  Cannot repair the scratches
  He knows that even new coins have scars
  So he just smiles
  
  He knows the use of ashes
  He worships God with ashes
  
  In the darkest of the night
  Both his hands will blister badly
  They will often open painfully
  And the blood flows from his hands
  He works to take from black coin faces
  The thumbprints from so many ages
  He wishes he could cure the scars
  When he forgets he sometimes cries
  
  He knows the use of ashes
  He worships God with ashes
  
  
  
  
  Filigree & Shadow
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• 16.12.03 17:35
• Nu tad tā. Sākuši smiltis kaisīt. Braucu - skatos viss nokaisīts. Un kur nav nokaisīts, tāds melns, sauss un paspīdīgs. Nekas, nekas, šķūnis tagad pilns. Vīrelis gan tāds savāds - viens vaigs uzpampis tā, it kā būtu aiz vaiga aizbāzts mandarīns. Tomēr omulīgs. I nekurnēja, ka nevar iebraukt. Ne tā kā citus gadus. Un viņa busiņš, kas oda pēc bērnības nelabuma.
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