Saturday, December 24, 2011

Public view

This sadness flow,
Like a gallon of river flow,
That turning into dark end,
Nor safety nor suprise.

What will become,
In this ancient realm,
What will become,
While they watch me.

In this desprate hand,
The music played,
For seven days,
While they tooks pills,
For seven weeks.

People say it's wilderness,
That make me lost,
While roam in the gasping land,
Waiting to be eaten alive.

I'll be waiting for the bus,
So i won't be insane,
To reach for the summer rain,
Summer rain.

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