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They say all artists and writers have questionable sanity. I have already lost my mind and my only escape is writing |
She sat down by the old oak tree
And set her chin upon her knees...
The wind picked you up and carried you away
I watched it take you across the break of day...
Summer time blues,
got me holding onto you...
Our hands locked like digits.
I counted the seconds...
Our hands locked like digits.
I counted the seconds...
Summer time blues,
got me holding onto you...
One, two, one, two, three, four.
The notes crash onto the paper...
Sunny days cause too much hope for happiness
I prefer the rain. It's clean and honest, well I...
I was never the one to write love poems
They never seemed to come out right...