We born as a child
It's 'the world' that turn us into an adult

We're chasing our dreams
It's 'the world' that make us chasing their money

They have money
We have passion

They have control
We have freedom

Ressurect the child
That's the true human nature after all

Ressurect the child
Then we'll change the world

May this scream turn to a melody
to force your fires outward.
May the explosions that crawl up your throat,
into your mouth, your eyes, your hands,
emerge through your fingertips to create,
not destroy.

It is how you speak. I know your language.
The power you wield can't break the skin, and your voice,
trapped under someone else's rocks.

Let yourself be color and light.
Think your thoughts, it's okay.
Scream until your soul can sing again,
then let your fingers dance through the melody,
not along the sharp edge of darkness.

We are here. You're not alone.
Speak, we will listen.

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
    Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
    A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
    Of deities or mortals, or of both,
        In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
    What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
        What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
    Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
    Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
    Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
        Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
    She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
        For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
    Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
    For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
    For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
        For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
    That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
        A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
    To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
    And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
    Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
        Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
    Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
        Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
    Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden ****;
    Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
    When old age shall this generation waste,
        Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
    "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
        Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

We've made music 'til morning's light
passing through the night
You and I
with ocean and sky
Your constant loving breeze
my guitar with me
Together we made music
so sweet
Neither of us with anywhere else to be
with sandy bare feet
I strummed a melody
and you, you sang to me

i miss him.

why do i miss him?
how
can i miss him
after everything?

one dream last night, after weeks and months of torture
and i remember the good parts
and these new boys will not do
i stop letting them talk to me
i miss him
i miss that man that took advantage of my innocence.
i truly miss him.
and right now,
in this moment
i know i would take him back.

It is fun talking to you...
especially that We are not talking at all
It feels  **** good  being with you...
Ow,wait,that's just in my head ..
Ok,what do you want..
I am being real serious out here
Just point to it,very simple

if you are missing him, remember this. remember how cruel he was to you, how every time he drove away the moonlight made your skin look bruised, it made you feel soft. remember that you are not. you might break but you will always heal. think of the nights where he turned away and refused to let you touch him, nights where he moaned your best friends' names into your mouth while you tried to prove how much you loved him, nights where he'd refuse to stop yelling until you put your hands on him. do not think of his hands, or his mouth, or any of the bones in his body. they're not for you. they're not for anybody but himself and you should pity the fact he doesn't know how to love them. you gave your best to him and he crumpled it up until it looked like your worst. don't feel sorry for being emotional, he was a gaping wound in your chest and things like that deserve a good cry. if you're missing him, remember how distant he was, how when you'd sink down on him he wouldn't be looking at your face. how his shoes were always graffitied with the numbers of other girls. how in the middle of a date he asked another girl her name. I know it hurts, it's going to be okay, I promise. remember how unhelpful he was? how little he cared, moving so fast he could never type the 'I?' he blamed you for loving him too much, for being too sad: both things were his fault. I know it doesn't seem like it but I promise there is somebody much, much more lovely, somebody who will treat you like a cloud, and won't throw a fit when you start to rain. you just have to wait.

not one second goes by that i don't wish you were here with me

Watch your words,
They'll affect afterwards.
*Just cover with some laughter
It will be gone soon after.