For Every Storm
For every storm there is a room
And find the palace now,
From deserts are a tomb and gloom,
Where clothes must just allow.
The clothing kisses us on cheek,
When effort made us worse,
The cloth we wear is rather chic,
And worry is a curse.
The storm shall grow at all the speed
That problems make us mad,
You did not follow, or then bleed
As madness is your dad.
Grief is the joy of a quake and slumberous acts,
It caresses the heart of the beloved as he speaks;
Grief is a mountain that I climb for the world to see,
My accursed fellowship is a remainder of fortune and lies.
My imagination is clever, my action is a solution,
Beware of the caressing united men who solve a problem
About law and poverty, the reformists gave their support,
The grievances were cared for, as a melody struck the wind.