o

Life seems slipping, just not real,
When time is full but emptiness we feel,
Worlds are burning in the blink of an eye,
Even a soul blind with passion must silently cry,
For all endless beauties created and gone,
For all that is lost as we create one solemn song,

Forlorn and lost is not a single tear,
No world that is gone must oblivion fear,
For pains chissel carved upon lifes,
What we ourselfs of beauty derived.

So a song sung in the bustle of life is what we seek, let us not forget what ever we did never speak.

Kommentar verfassen

%d Bloggern gefällt das: