By Arcassin Burnham

The truth hurts when you have to tell a friend,
Sleeping at the bottom of the barrel,
The truth hurts when it's too late to pretend,
Like the people walking around singing Christmas carols,
Sunny days will long for you to arrive,
Even you can't take the heat from the sun,
What will you do when your love is on the run,
No this is not the same or for fun,
This never will come true,
They drift heavily in the eves of the summer,
Sitting there,
I just stare and think,
Taking place in blooming of the flowers,
More than I can say for the others,
This never will come true.