It’s funny, though, the end of the story, Not the comedic fashion in which loose ends get tied, But the part when I know already what happens. Are we the crafters, the writers, the ones to paint the page? For if we did not have this pen, our description would be left undiscovered.
I wake in the morning to find your heart beside me— My memory feels the doors close. The mirror flashes another glimpse of me Before warm water covers my ears, Drowning the world for wonderful moments.
During the frothing clamor I muse, remembering
That in the end, The crest that is now here smashes words t o g e t h e r.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
