Gears, they have rhythmic moves...
Dark brown coloured, gives the papers to press.
Ever same moves carefree.
One guy nearby, such standing
Makes it control with his hand.
Machine is working honestly non-stop...
It was a press machine.
I watched it with curiosity.
That spectre enchanted me.
In the evening, near the shop
Machine is working like a carefree snob.
I was watching but on other hand my eyes around
With worry.
People who see me can think about me crazy.
Finally, I went away.
Like eternal rhythmic voices
Can it turn into a human?
Can it be a miracle?
If I love it at enough level.
I was going there almost every day.
I have become more and more attached to it.
My spirit slowly turned to the machine.
One day in the dusk, one guy in the park
He was watching me with evil looks.
I went away in pain...
Can it turn a person if I give it my soul?
Many days I didn't go there...I couldn't.
But machine is still in my brain.
Finally, I decided to see it again.
Around of atelier, there was a large
Construction zone;
Trashes, stuff that doesn't work anymore.
My God! There...Machine.
No way, no...
Such a silent static.
Somebody had broken it, or itself is broken
I don't know.
Then I understood that,
I was a miserable romantic.
But that's real that, it doesn't lie.
As if for a moment, I saw a monument;
Over it a few drops, does it cry?
God, can I bring it back with my prayer?
A few minutes later the rain got faster,
Hopeless, I left it.
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