I guess it's just another way to commit suicide. Gazing the lake pass by, beyond the window, looking at the trees, and land, and trees, and land. Each time I came across this landscape I intended to freeze it in a picture. Yellow and green, poppies and daisies, blade of grass and clouds and oaks and water and leaves and soil and.
And I just put it off day after day (after day after day) since one day just black deep furrows all lined up, black and deep.
There was a шутка I red once, somewhere, about crows and rows.