lördag 11 september 2010

dreams of you.

I’m sick of looking for those heroes in the sky,

to teach us how to fly.

Seems like they've made it to the other side where the grass is greener

and the sky is always blue.

There comes a time when every bird has to fly

at some point every rose has to die.

It tears me up,

I tried to forgive but it wasn't enough.

Oh angel of mine :

tomorrow if a golden train came to take you away,

would you go or would you stay?

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