Aug 2015
I'll sing to myself.
The song of the devoted lovers of insanity,
In the orchids with their hands intertwined and their souls moving perfectly in sync.
I'll sing to myself,
The melody of the rain,
Which poured its heart out on the blooming flowers and the tall native trees,
Along with the tender breeze,
Rolling gently in the distance whispering your name.
I'll sing to myself,
The harmony of the brook,
Transcending into the deep seas,
Like it was designed, destined and fated to be a part of it.
I'll sing to myself ,
The song of the lonely mountains,
Beneath the moon, which have seen the untold sunrises, disheveled tides and the low valleys screaming in the hollow yet the alluring land.
I'll sing to myself,
The strain of love and of despair,
Of curse and of prayer,
Of disdain and of admiration-rare.
Of loneliness and only of tears.
I'll sing to myself about thee,
Because you're not here, to sing to me.
The song of the devoted lovers of insanity,
In the orchids with their hands intertwined and their souls moving perfectly in sync.
I'll sing to myself,
The melody of the rain,
Which poured its heart out on the blooming flowers and the tall native trees,
Along with the tender breeze,
Rolling gently in the distance whispering your name.
I'll sing to myself,
The harmony of the brook,
Transcending into the deep seas,
Like it was designed, destined and fated to be a part of it.
I'll sing to myself ,
The song of the lonely mountains,
Beneath the moon, which have seen the untold sunrises, disheveled tides and the low valleys screaming in the hollow yet the alluring land.
I'll sing to myself,
The strain of love and of despair,
Of curse and of prayer,
Of disdain and of admiration-rare.
Of loneliness and only of tears.
I'll sing to myself about thee,
Because you're not here, to sing to me.
Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.
