I had an account on here a few years ago, but unfortunately I can no longer remember the login information. |
Red rose paint on my finger tips
And my cheeks lightly blushed...
The reaper dances with our souls
The fire burns the frozen coals...
Paint me a picture of what I have seen
Paint me this picture, of what this can be...
The withered tree
Up on the hill is waiting for the sun...
The withered tree
Up on the hill is waiting for the sun...
Flying high up in the sky
The doves softly float...
You look at me with an ignorant eye
Ignoring me, as if I were less than a fly...
Masks and scary faces, hiding in dark places
Dressed in death, it drapes their skin...
This love was so true and sweet
Ever since that day you swept me off my feet...