"Waiting on a Sunday Afternoon For What I Read Between the lines, your lies ..."
While the first words echo in the speaker, his chest rumbling recalling the events of last night. The tears mingled with dreams and thoughts on your pillow still have a bright sound, and headache, malaise and sorrow. But there are lies that hurt. Perhaps deception, covert nonsense. Anxieties that fate threw. And not looking guilty as usual, does not seek to remedy things at all costs as before. "The Harder They Come" as used to say when, distraught, sought to explain irrational things. The simplicity of his distress was surprised. He did suffer in a calm and placid.
"... feelin 'like a hand in rusted shame so do you laugh or does it cry? Reply ..?"
Nobody deserves an idiot thinking. No one deserves to bleed your heart for someone wrong. No one deserves the fate of dog to be mere words in the mouth of another, even when these words are sweet. No one deserves to be just an idea that has been felt, you can see, play ... that can erode and erase.
'... leavin' on a southern train only yesterday you lied, Promises of What I Seem To Be only watched the time go by, all of These Things you said to me ... "
View hundreds of possible destinations to heaven and say no hard feelings. No clouds, no forms of paint or musical notes. There is only one reality opaque, palpable and serene. There is no predestination, no plot. Just a thorn stuck in the right place, with full knowledge of the facts. There is a preventable error, but did not want to avoid. There is a sea of \u200b\u200btears and doubt that he was facing even though they knew for a fact that could not reach the other side ... there was only the courage, the courage to throw himself alone and lost, giving the motion of the waves, without looking back. "I am responsible for my own death."
"... breathing is the hardest thing to do with all I've Said and all that's dead for you, you lied - good bye ..."
No blame. Nobody is to blame for the fate of dog which he lived. There is no predestination, no plots. Only one controlled lust, excessive desire to die feeling, throw and succumb to passion. To throw roses, beautiful and sharp. Paint a picture with contaminated blood itself beautiful and bitter spirit.
'... leavin' on a southern train only yesterday you lied Promises of What I Seem To Be only watched the time go by, all of These Things I Said to you ... "
I just know he wanted to die, he tried and succeeded. He knew what he was doing, knew what was going to be the result and at the bottom, deep down, knew that had to be the result, for the good of all.
