(no subject)
Right now there's nothing like hiding in my room listening to solo piano music while I write. It's one of those good/bad feelings.
Here is a product of this time alone:
"One by one the bridges fall,
And look, up goes another wall!
Whatever is needed for a wall to make,
From a bridge, a stone I take.
And the treasure hidden far behind,
Is something you may never find.
It may just be an empty tomb,
Dark and cold with so much room.
The words painted on every wall,
Hold on to see if they will fall.
Outside as gold they do appear,
Come, soak through, and settle here.
To hold out the pain the builders seek,
But through the cracks the rain will leak.
By heart they think each word I've sung,
Yet I may not know a single one.
When from a bridge a stone I steal,
The heart inside forgets to feel.
So what's the use of another wall,
If in the end it's bound to fall."
Here is a product of this time alone:
"One by one the bridges fall,
And look, up goes another wall!
Whatever is needed for a wall to make,
From a bridge, a stone I take.
And the treasure hidden far behind,
Is something you may never find.
It may just be an empty tomb,
Dark and cold with so much room.
The words painted on every wall,
Hold on to see if they will fall.
Outside as gold they do appear,
Come, soak through, and settle here.
To hold out the pain the builders seek,
But through the cracks the rain will leak.
By heart they think each word I've sung,
Yet I may not know a single one.
When from a bridge a stone I steal,
The heart inside forgets to feel.
So what's the use of another wall,
If in the end it's bound to fall."