flies- And a bird's glass eyes- A beat rolls across the ground, And it seems that I have found the finder. It's been given a reason. It's been given a rhyme. One Purpose. And as I handed it the world it took away the time I needed. Disaster will bring people. People will bring more. But I am thankful out here where the butterflies die there is no one to hear my ode to the flies
(Don't ask about that one. Not even I know. x.x)
Markition Necrovius · Fri Jun 01, 2007 @ 12:22am · 1 Comments |