A yellow fever burns with anger.
Mothers fill with a sense of danger.
As towns die and graveyards grow,
A carpenter’s child waits for snow.
Many lives this fever will take.
While others say this horror is fake.
This carpenters child is the only smart one.
For this fever only strikes on a hot days sun.
When winter comes and cools the air
the fever’s anger will disappear.
In the winter it hibernates.
So, dear child please wait.
In a land they is free
Yellow Fever struck in 1793.

I can speak of many things
Such as love and hate
But right now those sounds
I can not make
So here they are
Those meaningful words
When I think of you
I think of the hummingbirds
How they judge
Not by the past
And not as long as a summer may last
But always and forever
They would come
And so this is the memory
They have become
I remember the times
When I was still young
Your house was one
Of adventure and fun
For I was happy
In those few years
But right now
I must throw away  the tears
Crying is selfish
Please let me explain
This world is a
Life a death game
I’ve had you so long
Like an overdue book
I’ve kept you these years
Not taking one look
It’s time for a return
To an angel of mine
Yes she’s been waiting a real long time
She has been a reason for hope
A shield from my fears
I’ve kept her heart broken
All of these years
I’ve seen you cry
For this world’s evil ways
I know you have suffered
Through so many of your days
Life and Death
Both have their pains
It hurt to see you suffer
Like a desert
Without rain
I cannot speak  a sound anymore
But  memories
I have always to adore

When I die young
     don't say I was strong till the end
     don't say it took me by surprise
Tell them I was always weak
     I was always frail
    but I saw it coming and I was prepared
I'm no palm reader but I do read palms
    I knew that I would die while still young
    I met my faith and so I'll tell you
I watched the world through God's eyes
    I saw its beauty
    I heard its songs
And so I wasn't scared to die young

One box to hold a year or two
Two trucks to carry my memories
three loads of stuff we have to sell
I'm packing up my childhood but
Its not by my own free will.

Four ways I try to handle my pain
Five days used to torture me
Six different moments I want to die
I shut the door to my happy home
"I'm sorry goodbye"

Seven days made this week
Eight years you lived a different life
Nine times out of ten you did what was right
They always blamed you because of your past
If only they too could see the light?

For ten years you were a different man.
They were united against you yet still alone they stand.

Pain is a demon's game.
One that plays your mind.
Beauty is the loved ones we cherish.
Beauty is the hope without which we would parish.
But pain keeps us here by showing all is not kind.
Pain or hope; what do you prefer?
For is it not the pain that reminds you why you have hope?
Its touch stings with cold.
But why have hope if you never suffer?