Αναρτήσεις
"Glinka was never meant to be played any other way. I didn't know it before, but I know it now."
It's the rush of youth, I know, the time of poor judgement,
my hand on your heart, eye for an eye.
It's the heat of summer, the heron taking flight
over a lake smooth like a sky.
We are immortal, we are forever
in the shadow of impermanence.
