Curse these hands, for no music is made.
No instrument have these hands played.
Curse these lips, for they cannot produce beauty.
No notes are suiting.
But these words, these words I write are my instrument of choice,
With each word serving as my voice.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 9:28 PM UTC
Curse these hands, for no music is made.
No instrument have these hands played.
Curse these lips, for they cannot produce beauty.
No notes are suiting.
But these words, these words I write are my instrument of choice,
With each word serving as my voice.
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