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Living my life like it's golden.Living my life like im chosen.I am no longer broken.I am beholden, unfolding.Say in motion like the ocean, rolling.
Shall I speak to you my secrets in hushed and airy tones near the warmly-lit fire? Sweet taste of nectar and honey you praise me and forget yourself. How this narrative reminds me of one such time
The turbulences of Winter, Spring, and Summer pass Enthusiasm swells as home can now be viewed In the distance yet on the horizon Though I am advised to exercise caution--
"Still.. Still.. Still.. How I wonder How I wander Drill, Drill, Drill Stay in line Stay with time
The return of the rain heralds ages of growthwhere leaves left forgotten to their last ending goeth. The return of the rain hails the heel of old firesmakes moss meet to grow on tall boreal spires.
They say "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" On this crooked path they encourage you to walk a little longer Eyes wide open but she doesn't see the picture Od'd on the ground guess the drugs didn't miss her
I beg this question upon you, Tie up my wrists Bind my heart Wrap it tenderly beneath your knife I assure you It does not bleed For bleeding is a sign of death,
And they lived happily ever after. Fairy tales live on in our memories As a happy story, life, and ending They've been watching us for years on end, Watching us grow, change, and leave
A crown of thorns i bow before, but know no other king; And nations fall when they hear the call; that only God can sing relief, repent rejoice as our king has again returned
Up out of my bed, For I know I will return, To my love my bed.
Sakura, color me pink, Sakura, color me white. Above all colors, don't hold red. A delicate figure among the snow, Such jealousy and respect cannot compare Your Wisdom and you Pride.
Blind was my Faith that allowed me to see Plugged were my ears, that I did hear his voice decree-
As I look all around me, I think of everything happening and weep; I thought I was free, but it seems I am returning; to the thing painful to be, made of emotion constantly turning.
the river rushes past my feet toes scrape the surface ice cold the dirt rushes past my feet ground is hard with frost hurry hurry hurry the tarmac rushes past my feet
A man stood there, alone in the room, looking out its windows.It was his last day in his home, a home in a land not truly his, amongst a people not his own,But he loved them.And this was his home.
"Tell me, tell me, tell me once more. The words you say before you walk out the door. Please don't go, don't leave me here alone. How will I know if you will ever return home? I promise I won't tug at your hand.