Seasons of the Blind
Soon this is day,
And day few know.
Gone it has from the land,
Land that belongs underground.
But still the night burns ears,
Over my skin it lightly lingers.
Tore favors I'd thankyou for,
Said with cold hands I could care.
Wiether this man finds life in winter wrong,
Or the girl shows them different seasons of blind.
Will both be held in my palms n' shoulders,
Leaving you forever aside in my mind.
It's deep and that's why we're lonely.
Quiet the sound longing keeps homely,
Felt in lines are what we wait in,
Alive in guided tissues of the humbled shaking.
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