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Feb 2017
I could write dreams on the walls
And it still wouldn't be everything I had to say
I could write on all the music sheets I see
Unending rhapsody in the joy and it would cause and still know my words fall blind
I could build monuments to time, eras and eras described in days
And yet, my opinion means nothing
The inscibed doesn't change how little I'm willing to expose
Because no one is looking to read my soul
You can't hear me
You can't hear me.
Written by
Clary Morgan  a house
(a house)   
182
   Ryan Hoysan
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