Blizzard of the snow storm,
Hearts lying side by side,
Fighting for unison.
Deep down the souls long to connect,
Alas tis a matter of time.
Tongue stuck with three little words,
The flight time is now.
He wanders like a lost ewe,
Now he wishes to have said it,
He looks around, crying silently like a tortured soul.
He choose to fill a drum with holes,
Reality clears like the morning mist.
The flight disappears through the tower glass,
Petals flying in the wind.
In his world,
The petals drips blood.
only if had borrowed time,
time for a simple ala carte meal in KFC,
hour comedy at GSC,
a ‘free’ stroll in Chinatown,
a night in a rundown motel,
he didn’t have to buy the moon.
image via yahoo