Will you get out of this place
Let's just do it for me
You'll die alive here
Stuck breathing in the air I breath out
It suits me just well
Its throttle of myself, Stifle of your Eve.
I don't want to be just a rib from your man
I want to be dirt and ground
Have breathe of life blown into my being
The wind will work for today
But I am afraid by tomorrow
These trees will stop moving.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
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