...Cry...

Waking up bright and early
Lift up the shade
Listening to the bell that never rung
But the girl can’t know he’s there
They never speak
Their painted faces have begun to run

Watching with deaf eyes
The paintings dry
Never knowing that they both bear witness
Hearing as it clears
The paintings smear
Crimson raindrops, he begins to cry
To cry
To cry
To cry
To cry

Brushes, as they break
She slowly wakes
Wondering if it all was just a dream
Looking at her hands
She slowly stands
Sanguine stains, she now begins to cry
To cry
To cry
To cry
To cry
Ooh
Ooh





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peacemaker said...
Oct. 24, 2009 at 8:10 am
this writing has much depth and feeling. i'm very impressed
 
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