Glory: Dead Synth,
Dead Bebop playing
on my radio
in my ears
Squeak rustic
machines like a clock
(is a description all this music has to offer?)
strings- the violin: sampled
strange orchestral voice
in electronic
(Dead Bebop returns to laugh at me)
trumpets- fun
gone.
Very short brass display
end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem