The chest voice is still coping with the straining quality of an inner alto.
O sense of high pitch, have you forsaken your hope to use the support of love for crooning quality.
Did I miss you in singing the pyramid of my emotions? Or didn't I feel you in the supporting system of the sweet notes and their perfect harmony?
I can't read you in the crimped edge of my thought process. And this roots in the inner reasoning of having frustration.
The repetition of musical forms and their fade out seems to be attractive. But tell me, What stage comes after the little more careful stage? I see the embers of spark reflecting the feelings of your eyes.
The feelings movingly remind me of a sealed fate. The sealed fate has to deal with Your oasis eyes, Your fire eyes.