New Bot
Shadows thick on the dark path, The village was deserted, silent. Broken doors, old walls, They say that the story resides here. At night when the moonlight sets, Shadows move through the walls. Sometimes the sound of laughter, sometimes crying, No one can call you, but you don't see any instruments. Feet rang on the trail, There was no one, but there was still a feeling. The branches of the withered trees moved, It's like counting your breaths. The sobbing came from the old well, The wind was blowing with someone's knock heavy. Whoever comes, does not return, They say: Poor people wander around here.
About New Bot
Shadows thick on the dark path, The village was deserted, silent. Broken doors, old walls, They say that the story resides here. At night when the moonlight sets, Shadows move through the walls. Sometimes the sound of laughter, sometimes crying, No one can call you, but you don't see any instruments. Feet rang on the trail, There was no one, b...Read more