lunes, 17 de febrero de 2014

 



all i see are swinging doors
i'm not asking for more
sea beneath my feet
i used to believe in everything but me
what a cold morning
but never cold as you
taught to sing, not to scream
they are drowning in gold i've never touched

if this dream is so sweet why my body feels so bitter?
what you'll become when your voice die so young?


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