lluvia de balas

lluvia de balas

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WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación sáb, dic 7, 2019
Sunday is gloomy My hours are slumberless Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless Little white flowers Will never awaken you Not where the black coach Of sorrow has taken you Angels have no thoughts Of ever returning you Would they be angry If I thought of joining you Gloomy Sunday Gloomy is Sunday With shadows I spend it all My heart and I Have decided to end it all Soon there'll be candles And prayers that are said I know Let them not weep Let them know that I'm glad to go Death is no dream For in death I'm caressin' you With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessin' you Gloomy Sunday Dreaming, I was only dreaming I wake and I find you asleep In the deep of my heart here Darling I hope That my dream never haunted you My heart is tellin' you How much I wanted you Gloomy Sunday
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Don't fear death. It does nothing for you. Death is at every turn; the challenge is if you choose to accept it or not. Don't fear pain. Pain is how you learn. Pain is the side-effect of life. If you live life fearing getting hurt...can you truly live life fully? I've felt pain. I've accepted death. I've lived, I've learned, I've drowned a few times. If all I have to show for it is small bundles of letters and words...so be it. That's more than I could have ever hoped for. Everything that means anything to me are just words. You can put anything into words. Anything and everything. You can put death into words. You can put pain into words. You can put fear into words. And I have. And you can read them, if you want. You can learn from them; learn to stop fearing, learn to stop living in the future, behind your mask. But only if you care enough to listen. I speak loud and clear, yet nobody can hear me. I am not hidden, yet nobody can find me. If they even try.

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