The sun rises too soon
Morning comes like an accusation
The dawn melodies of the birds once were of a creativity
Now all they sing are emphatic repertoires of dirges, that tremble my very bone
The stillness in the air is doused in old hopes and frail dreams..
And lingering disappointment
The air is too thick...
It's asphyxiating
Walking the halls of monotony
Forced enthusiasm is now for real
Much like a leech the mid-afternoon sun ***** the life out of your soul
So you cross your fingers and hope that existence will not make a loser of your soul
That would be the greatest tragedy
When the night comes
The leaves start falling
Happiness was never in season anyway.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
The sun rises too soon
Morning comes like an accusation
The dawn melodies of the birds once were of a creativity
Now all they sing are emphatic repertoires of dirges, that tremble my very bone
The stillness in the air is doused in old hopes and frail dreams..
And lingering disappointment
The air is too thick...
It's asphyxiating
Walking the halls of monotony
Forced enthusiasm is now for real
Much like a leech the mid-afternoon sun ***** the life out of your soul
So you cross your fingers and hope that existence will not make a loser of your soul
That would be the greatest tragedy
When the night comes
The leaves start falling
Happiness was never in season anyway.
