Ash blends with the breeze,
As it blows through the trees...
The earth.
The flames...
Im addicted to the way he smells;
To the way his heart beats...
On swift wings,
Death doth travel...
It boils up,
And rips through you...
Because bruises heal,
And memories don't...
You make fun of her,
Then you turn around...
On swift wings,
Death doth travel...
Im addicted to the way he smells;
To the way his heart beats...
The clock ticked on and my hope of seeing him died with the setting sun |
Why do those that are happy have to die, while those that are sad, live on in misery? |
Theres danger in beauty, like the thorn on the rose. |