Oh god, how great is grief that grants the means to be inspired, Breathing life again to empathy that I thought had expired. But if my malaise capitulates the lingering, emphatic ache, Could I succumb to joy again or at least find some relief in familiar pain?
Either way, if I'm to rise my voice again I should celebrate. And take some comfort in knowing that the slow introspection that I felt in isolation has left me with an elucidated sense of self.
And I know that it may not be enough to satiate the phantom ache that I carry in my timbre, But it softly shakes the taut embrace that doubt had once maintained. May flora bloom from every wound that I have volunteered to display.
After all, don't I deserve to be happy too?
'Cause there's a bouquet for every misery an embellishment for all my weaknesses I'm jubilant in my undoing; you say it should hurt but I don't feel it.
So I propose if I'm able to articulate my woes in communion, with an assembly who can relate Is my pain a price I should be willing to pay? What is the worth of misery if not experienced in jovial company? There is catharsis to be found in the comfort afforded by our generous despair.
So celebrate with me.
'Cause there's a bouquet for every misery An embellishment to all our weaknesses Be jubilant in our undoing; does it really hurt if you don't feel it now?Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
