To the boy who crosses the brickyard with sorrow on your face,
Come cry with me.
To the girl who crosses the brickyard sassily tossing your hair,
Come strut with me.
To the guys who cross the brickyard arguing,
Come debate with me.
To the professor who crosses the brickyard worrying,
Come share your troubles with me.
To anyone who crosses the brickyard wearing sunglasses when it is cloudy,
Come hide with me.
Come fill me with your emotions, your troubles, your cares.
I am just an empty shell, waiting to be filled by those around me.
Let me live vicariously.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 3:32 PM UTC
To the boy who crosses the brickyard with sorrow on your face,
Come cry with me.
To the girl who crosses the brickyard sassily tossing your hair,
Come strut with me.
To the guys who cross the brickyard arguing,
Come debate with me.
To the professor who crosses the brickyard worrying,
Come share your troubles with me.
To anyone who crosses the brickyard wearing sunglasses when it is cloudy,
Come hide with me.
Come fill me with your emotions, your troubles, your cares.
I am just an empty shell, waiting to be filled by those around me.
Let me live vicariously.