There's this meadow, vibrant as can be.
I go there every once in a while, wondering what I'll see.
Spinning around my head are bees.
Buzzing around, fogging my thoughts
Where wonders of seas would be.
Looking up, I see hundreds of little white daisies.
And I think to myself how everything appears to be amazing.
But far into the distant, where the sunset's colors paint the skies,
There it is, the tales of the lies.
Once a happy young girl,
Impressed by the music of swirls,
is now failing to see the bright glow of hearts.
And the pretty white daisies in the vibrant wide meadow, are now surrounded by the buzzing of bees.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
There's this meadow, vibrant as can be.
I go there every once in a while, wondering what I'll see.
Spinning around my head are bees.
Buzzing around, fogging my thoughts
Where wonders of seas would be.
Looking up, I see hundreds of little white daisies.
And I think to myself how everything appears to be amazing.
But far into the distant, where the sunset's colors paint the skies,
There it is, the tales of the lies.
Once a happy young girl,
Impressed by the music of swirls,
is now failing to see the bright glow of hearts.
And the pretty white daisies in the vibrant wide meadow, are now surrounded by the buzzing of bees.
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