2.10.2004
The night is dark and silent
As I wish it to be
But the night is lonely, too
I miss the person I used to be at your side
I let myself go with the flow
I let the flow rush the hollow inside me
I find in others what I lack in myself
In these I call friends, I find a deal
To my solutide, and to my longing
In being with them, I find myself washed away
And this cask, and this mask
Becomes me
In their arms and their lips
In their laughter and in their taste
In their smile and in their breath
I make as if to forget
I pretend to, and sometimes I think I do
I throw myself unto them, in hopes of hiding from me
I part their lips, I part their heart
I stitch myself together
These empty places I find myself now and then
They hold as much as their full cousins
In these dark gardens I stare up
But there is no God to stare down at me
And if I repent, I do so for myself alone
Dreams of dreams, dreaming of having a dream
I wonder what you dream of
And then again, I'd rather not know
Even if I do
For it's not for me that you pray
Alone, in my room now
I feel the hate rise up in me
I can't control my shakes like this...
Something about this so very wrong
I have to laugh out loud, I wish I didn't like this
Inside my shell I wait and bleed
I hate that city of my dreams
I hate that house of my dreams
And I hate so that beach of white sands that it hurts
But I can't throw away my dreams
Can I?
Falta métrica, falta rima... prose in poetry, or vice versa. I don't feel the need to make sen right now.
Assim disse Kat as 00:46.
Fala ae!
Nada dito neste site e verdade.
