And i'm spinning, spinning round
my feet will never touch the ground
they won't till i hear the sound
and by then i'm falling.
falling like a shooting star
falling right to where you are
trapped inside that bright glass jar
but by then you're dying.
dying with a piteous moan
your body turning all to bone
and not the devil will even loan
some time for you to love again.
Monday, February 23, 2009
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omg
ReplyDeleteI love this.
You have like
no idea.
8(
And you say you aren't a poet... BAH.