Like the rain that flickers minds
Like the pristine river water that quenches thirst cries
Style just makes you an advert
Sometimes so much that people call you curt
So when they don’t understand
That I cannot stand
For it is when they say "curt"
Then I am truly hurt
Then I but get ready for the demise
While getting ready for the hurt
But it has to be much planned
It has to be much precise
However, the feeling
Hurts too much, like broken wings
Feeling that no one sings
Melodies washing away with the hue
and only black remains
Ahh the feeling, yes it sings
What joy it brings
That joy when its here
Its but too mere
For to those it is happiness
To the other its sadness
When they but see
They do not understand
But when they truly understand
Nothing remains to be seen
Everything cannot be seen
Where nothing is green
Cause it is but a dark garden
Where the cold winter lurks
For this just keeps on reeling
Like a sad broken feeling
