You can cry but your soul's doomed to suffer in silence
Doomed to wait for a chance to break free
All these thoughts snatch my hand taking me to self violence
But this spring I shall grow throught my age like a tree.
Seems I'm going to change germinating my mind
Making eyes to become bright and clear
But there's only one snag making me get behind
It's my soul... and I guess it's still here...
The Sprout
© Copyright: Резиновая Душа, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107032801983
Свидетельство о публикации №107032801983
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