Pouring dirt on my shallow grave, It is not pity or dying I crave. Smelling flowers as dead as me, Is not my perfect idea of peace. There needs to be a way to fly, And avoid your perfect blue sky. I don't know what holds me here. The earth, or those I hold dear. Who is my enemy? You or gravity? Burning the remnants of my body, Reminds me of what I'll never be. Composing my epitaph years early, Isn't the future I lived to see. There needs to be a way to swim, Above your deepest gleaming ocean. I know not who can't let me leave, Those I love, or the air I breathe. Who is my enemy? You or gravity? |
Monday, September 21, 2009
Gravity - 3/30/05
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