Show me the sweeping passages
Bury me under yards deep of packed clay
Because that might as well be where I
stay
Feeling this way..
My rapture has come and forbade me;
Come and stolen away from me...
Come and snatched up
The air in the night
And all that's left is little life
All that's left is little life...
Each day is a veiled illusion; a test
To pass or not pass,
A lie that rubs me so I can see...
Each day,
I see
And sweep away the life in me...
Right under the rug..
Who is my power? My me?
Not so much the girl I used to be...
Not so inclined now-a-days
To laugh without a fight...
Because the fight is all I got left..
Drift Wood...
That's all I am,
I am a piece of driftwood;
Lonely,
And buried,
At sea...
A still dying
“Annabelle Lee”...
No comments:
Post a Comment