Upon one morning they buried my soul
as if my limbs were rooted; not...
I'm always thinking,
on what to do...
I swear Jesus cried that night.
It was Friday, and the skyline...
Here I am once again all
dressed in rags, my clothes...
Locked up all the time
mom yelling like someone did a crime...
My mom,
was like my best friend...
Mom,
I can't believe you...
what are scars
where do they come from...
Remember the dazzling blue hues
of Northern England's summer sky...
This is a poem based off the song...
He looked so malicious and mysterious
Yet so innocent and pure at the same time...
The happiness is turning sour
This will be my final hour...