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Tears Once it is morning In a garden It is The world The trees rise up To dance in the light Of the sky
Funny things are only funny when we have time to laugh, To sing on about jolly nonsense until reality gives us a bath. The tough thing about the rules of funny is that it must begin in pain.
Weeping Small watery beads fall like tiny diamonds. Glittering as the sunlight sprouts from their surfaces in prismatic tints.
The weeping willow An interesting fellow. Is she really sad? Her drooping branches Can hide contempt and sorrow Only known to her. And i never know If the weeping willow tree
I am the bird of the weeping willow. I whine and sway I cry at bay. I toss, I turn – I yearn, I wish. And whisper to plead, set me free from the swaying, the willow that whispers.
Try not to weep, or grim will hear you as he creeps, looking for sad souls to reap. It’s quite cheap, but that’s how he pays his upkeep.
It sings me sweet lyrics in the eve Whispers words as I sleep Tells me I should grieve
Once there was a willow tree. A lovers' tree 'twas fit to be. But times cannot define the soil, War and hate marred branches loyal. Rope on bark as cloth to back, Love was all the tree did lack.
Shadowed dark skies roar over head, as I lay here dreaming in my bed. In my mind I stand in a field of flowers, and I become lost in daydream for countless hours. I'm surrounded by dark colors and hues,