Thursday, October 21, 2004

Dead poets society

All the time he is mumbling, mumbling truth,
...Like a blanket always leaves your feet cold,
You push it, strech it, it will never be enough,
You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us
From the moment we enter crying to the moment
we leaving dying,
It'll just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream


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