Feel the wind on your face and pick up the pace. Run to me my love, run to me quick. For I am sick. Fly away with me, into the mist. Where the dead go to be kissed.
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Poems, songs, and story's
PoetryAll made by me Please no stealing Just a bunch of crippling depression
Ponds
Feel the wind on your face and pick up the pace. Run to me my love, run to me quick. For I am sick. Fly away with me, into the mist. Where the dead go to be kissed.
