And it beigns...the period of self loathing.
When all else feels like a dismal dream
the mind refuses to acknowledge
the pen's wielded, but the ink has flown out
and I've lost my music too. There no home.
Pixies dance, while fairies weep On the boulevard of insatiable dreams... Magic and wonder is free to reap... Enchantment sets ye free...
4 comments:
oye......you r never homeless.......this world is your home.....and i am sure you will make it a beautifull place.....
losing home I can bear with, losing music would call for a beer....make it two....ha ha ha
hey u have an address! you can't be homeless!!
;)
N
ur talking like a labourer who has several kids to feed , and get's way below the minimum wages and also loves to play some sort of musical instrument - is infact a gem in his craft - but circumstances , real circumstances have led him to loose his [sur]
knock your self out , and remeber emotions are just another AK47 .
marathi manus
If one door closes, another one opens..i am sure dee are other doors to better homes dat have opened for u....grab the opportunity!!!
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