In haste doth the foe proclaim his victory
In mirth he cries, 'I sealed the brave in the...
Tell me mother
How not to forget...
Worry not dear, I am not worth much
For you to fear, to try to please...
There we stood on the prairie
As the sun set that night...
When it gets hard to breath
The air of self-indignation...
There is a path for everyone
To take and find happiness...
Though we know sight is right
A yearning resides...
Is this all that we have?
You teach your boy to walk...
Wary I've been of an admirer's company. The critique I've welcomed, listened to every word. |
We are all fools at one point or another, |
Passion is like a hay fire, easy to light, fiery in burning, quick to cease and hard to enjoy, |