The start and end of youth we don't notice it; in just a couple of blinks in our eyes,
With you, staring down at me in your front porch while I’m soaked in the heavy rain,
I offered my hand,
To you, my precious dear with tears falling down your eyes trying to kill the pain,
With every excruciating words to have felt in your heart with malice from the ones you love,
I am here, take my hand.
Let’s take a walk to the paradise we ought to love.
Away from this miserable conjecture of faith and reality,
The absolute truth, we could never decipher.
The smolder from each burnt memories,
The thin line of life and death,
Listen to the music of old, and follow me.
To the cliff that which the stars dance into; with a clear view of the city.
Now, look at me.
Do you want to be free?
The melancholy sonata that sings in your heart,
That which we can turn into art,
Hold my hand, and seek beyond your perceptions.
In the tales of old full of swords and magic,
Ring around the Rosy,
Pocket full of posies,
Ashes, Ashes we all fall down.
Never falter now, darling
And hold my hand tight.
Remember me,
When the skies are clear,
That your savior is here.
-Marcmire
