May 2013
Our days are blank,
A piece of clear glass.
An empty page,
That'd soon turn to dust.
Eventually you'd see,
You'd feel the strain.
The pages torn,
The glass stained...
A piece of clear glass.
An empty page,
That'd soon turn to dust.
Eventually you'd see,
You'd feel the strain.
The pages torn,
The glass stained...
