I'll keep on writing until my hands will bleed
I'll write myself out; my sorrows and my greed
I have replaced some other face with yours
I have denied that you're made of closed doors
And even though at start you were a game
A trifle that will pull me out of shame
A fake reflection of my own revolution
Of the one who seemed to be solution
No matter how long will I grow your seed
My garden craves for it, it is in need
No matter how hard I try to close my eyes
And then wake up next morning, without belief in lies
You are not just reflection anymore
You're part of me now, you're the closed door.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
I'll keep on writing until my hands will bleed
I'll write myself out; my sorrows and my greed
I have replaced some other face with yours
I have denied that you're made of closed doors
And even though at start you were a game
A trifle that will pull me out of shame
A fake reflection of my own revolution
Of the one who seemed to be solution
No matter how long will I grow your seed
My garden craves for it, it is in need
No matter how hard I try to close my eyes
And then wake up next morning, without belief in lies
You are not just reflection anymore
You're part of me now, you're the closed door.
