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It strikes back to the once warm August The city. so empty, white painted on white please listen to my harp, my crush, my music a genre called life we try so hard to be, that we get lost in who we are Tonight I’m the pillow you drip your tears on the mirror, reminding you of yourself though mistakes slap us in the face in the form of fate we shall disable the flaw for our paintbrushes and pens know us better than ourselves salt-less tears drained and dry lets run from ourselves for just one moment id listen to your every thought even if my ears bled id feel your every touch even if they were stabs i’ll be the cloudy day, the star shaped grain of sand raindrops die when they hit the ground the lucky ones hit you’re eye Log in to see images! |
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Posted On: 11/07/2007 5:54PM | View midge's Profile | # |