Apr 2016
So this is where we all bag our little art, at the center point of everything we know. Our watch keeps ticking; it knows the rhythm of the times.
Smoking our pressures life to waste; we perch like eagles about to take flight. Our frame absorbs to the recycling of our thoughts and we take a stand, wired up like a telephone, wondering for far too long the keys to breaking an old cold.
The music plays through our soul but the ground stands firm before our eyes. You can tell we are sugar free of youthfulness; this mask is all we bear. Hiding under the fashions of mankind and hoping it quenches our thirst of turning back the times. So we sit on a wooden platform reminiscing the theater of friendship we built from our days.
Shades of canopies hover over our feeble bodies like toys on a tiny shelve; we know for sure we are done. Old glass case and a bracelet of hope, coffee for the soul and a pen for the go, we cap down these words on our books of gold. Verse by verse as we sat on smiling at the young arena, history is all we can tell.
Donald
Smoking our pressures life to waste; we perch like eagles about to take flight. Our frame absorbs to the recycling of our thoughts and we take a stand, wired up like a telephone, wondering for far too long the keys to breaking an old cold.
The music plays through our soul but the ground stands firm before our eyes. You can tell we are sugar free of youthfulness; this mask is all we bear. Hiding under the fashions of mankind and hoping it quenches our thirst of turning back the times. So we sit on a wooden platform reminiscing the theater of friendship we built from our days.
Shades of canopies hover over our feeble bodies like toys on a tiny shelve; we know for sure we are done. Old glass case and a bracelet of hope, coffee for the soul and a pen for the go, we cap down these words on our books of gold. Verse by verse as we sat on smiling at the young arena, history is all we can tell.
Donald
Age
