Nostalghia

Nostalghia

I'm a candle, I burned to a feast.
Gather my wax in the morning,
And this page will tell you,
How to you to cry and what to be proud of,
How to mirth the last third. To
dispense and die easily,
And under the
shade of a random shelter. To light up posthumously, like a word.

A. Tarkovsky