They scream ...Beating on the wall ...Like little birds ..With horror, tearing their little hands (and maybe more) on the stone walls ...Long standing walls ..I feel sorry for them, so sorry ...Believe me ...But pity does not mean any stop signal ...They defended and bang the glass with each driven into them with a needle ...I hear these cries, even upstairs in his sitting over a cup of tea ...I hear they scrape my soul ..How to whine and scream climb their voices and hopes ..And how to become… Continue