It was a battle of wit, a true sufferers game,
You call me up 'n read me my name,
I tried to explain to you the extent of my pain,
But you robbed me of every right I had to claim,
Now because there is a place for everything.
I have nothing,
My soul has been stolen by your mangled hands,
My heart is too futile to resist your demands,
I am left with the memory so dear,
Of a place that loved and showed no fear.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment