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We are in an empire of a thousand sons, but in the end we all count as one. We will do our best to not act glum, but when push comes to shove there will always be one. Spontaneous heartache, a natural disaster. Poverty stricken nations, A dictator for their master. In my heart and in my mind I’ll still find the time, to teach every bird how to fly, and every person to live the perfect lie. We will wish for better days, look to the skies and we will prey, but in my heart and in my soul, life’s love lost moments eat us whole as we engage in our final goal. If she even remembers me for flying off the handle, for broken picture frames and a life that’s been dismantled, then she’s like a flame, flickering forever on my candle. Like my mother used to say, the days remain bright but the sky always grey, a reminder of the past time a substitute for the right way. We set our stage on the shore-line, blankets laid beneath us, gazed at the endless night sky, waiting for Augusts rush.
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Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
The difference between buttering bread with an iron and drawing a masterpiece with a fork
We are in an empire of a thousand sons, but in the end we all count as one. We will do our best to not act glum, but when push comes to shove there will always be one. Spontaneous heartache, a natural disaster. Poverty stricken nations, A dictator for their master. In my heart and in my mind I’ll still find the time, to teach every bird how to fly, and every person to live the perfect lie. We will wish for better days, look to the skies and we will prey, but in my heart and in my soul, life’s love lost moments eat us whole as we engage in our final goal. If she even remembers me for flying off the handle, for broken picture frames and a life that’s been dismantled, then she’s like a flame, flickering forever on my candle. Like my mother used to say, the days remain bright but the sky always grey, a reminder of the past time a substitute for the right way. We set our stage on the shore-line, blankets laid beneath us, gazed at the endless night sky, waiting for Augusts rush.
kyle-williams
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Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
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