Sep 30
It seems to be;
I walk, where your legs tire
I sing, where you forget your melody
It seems to be;
I have lived for you, when death was pasturing your heart
I have built for you, a world full of nothing but art
It seems to be;
I have not been there for myself, all this while.
I walk, where your legs tire
I sing, where you forget your melody
It seems to be;
I have lived for you, when death was pasturing your heart
I have built for you, a world full of nothing but art
It seems to be;
I have not been there for myself, all this while.
—for people who forgot to find time to love themselves
