there I go again, pretending to be you

[devilsball]

Narrow paths my passions tread: Laughter rings there, sorrow cries; Sick and sad, with half-shut eyes, Thro' the leaves the woods have shed,   My sins like yellow mongrels slink; Uncouth hyenas, my hates complain, And on the pale and listless plain Couching low, love's lion's blink.                                          
               - Maurice MaeterlinckTell me what it means. Go. Go.