| Butterfly |
[Oct. 22nd, 2004|10:26 pm] |
I cannot help it.
I have since childhood a passion towards words, beautiful words flying in my head and I am typical a dreamer, fucking no way back. Who the hell are you to judge me, to fucking tell me who I am? I dont get it, most of the time deluded. Save your mincing fake, you prick!
I fig myself with cynicism and anger, I filled myself with violent slant, yet not quite. Question me if you dare, I will unveil the secret-I feel so strong now. All the stars scintillating, am I too weary to take a try?
Oh yeah, butterfly, perhaps I am, or rather willing to rewrite the history. Deliver the truth and watch me ruin, the whole society laughing. No longer have to have, those that has gone. How that possessed me, how me down to the freezing, you were singing woo...
This is it. Say that I paid all my debt-there's nothing left for me to design.
Butterfly, such a yogi with stories, faded to reach the eternity, but you dont know the truth, you are blind trier with a daring mind. What's in your mind's eyes, you cheater? |
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