Scribe II: The Second
And I don’t know, wish I knew. It hurts to cry but it feels good
to pretend. Lock me in a room and listen for hours, this story of
guilt, it evokes us all. When I come to, I’ll miss you so. With the
fires of sadness comes a chilling feel, a soothing soul and a
weeping hill. I talk of ropes, ache to hang, but speak of living,
when everything is left it’s time to heal. This magical place, with
arms of grace, tell me I’m right, correct me if I’m wrong but the
hours are gone and we’ve got seconds left. So make a choice,
write it down and pass it down.
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artmuses said:
Wow, this is powerful.
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