Fond memories caught within a sound swirl like smoke rings
in my mind.
Dancing in the shadows of a empty floor.
Closed we are in thoughts times of past need to return.
She questions my words but I answer so very true.
Were actors in the play so overdue to end.
Bottles reflect a glimmer of a feeling I can no longer pretend.
the record skips only to repeat again.
The windows show another broken try,
Forclose the madness happiness for sale if you understand the lie.
I found it a chore not a plessure to speak.
Were togather in misery told to create yet persecuted
in the whim of another.
Broken are the bounds I found nothing to hold true.
The butcher takes the pen the writer has only to breath
to create.
Fight but what of the battle and its failure to end?
The storm has started
But ive gone inside a viewer to the insanity I refuse to play.
Sometimes you have to wipe the slate clean to start new.
The sound tells of a place I no longer wish to recall.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
Fond memories caught within a sound swirl like smoke rings
in my mind.
Dancing in the shadows of a empty floor.
Closed we are in thoughts times of past need to return.
She questions my words but I answer so very true.
Were actors in the play so overdue to end.
Bottles reflect a glimmer of a feeling I can no longer pretend.
the record skips only to repeat again.
The windows show another broken try,
Forclose the madness happiness for sale if you understand the lie.
I found it a chore not a plessure to speak.
Were togather in misery told to create yet persecuted
in the whim of another.
Broken are the bounds I found nothing to hold true.
The butcher takes the pen the writer has only to breath
to create.
Fight but what of the battle and its failure to end?
The storm has started
But ive gone inside a viewer to the insanity I refuse to play.
Sometimes you have to wipe the slate clean to start new.
The sound tells of a place I no longer wish to recall.
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