the song
of the violin
cuts through me,
a saw slowly fells
a forgotten tree
in an ancient forest;
warm blood oozes
from the bleeding heart,
of a soul
who's forgotten
how to cry
with her eyes;
death comes slowly
sometimes,
to those
who are learning
how to live
again.
of the violin
cuts through me,
a saw slowly fells
a forgotten tree
in an ancient forest;
warm blood oozes
from the bleeding heart,
of a soul
who's forgotten
how to cry
with her eyes;
death comes slowly
sometimes,
to those
who are learning
how to live
again.
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