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*this one is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Andreea.
Life is just amazing when you are around
Nothing feels as perfect as when I hear my favorite sound:
You jiggle and you laugh
I can’t ever have enough.
I can’t, I can’t ever have enough.
I will never feel homeless
Because you’ve always been my home
You can really have me breathless
Like when we kiss beneath the Dome.
You’re my crazily redhead
You’re my favorite drop of tea.
I will never see you sad
Not even when I try poetry.
I love you this Christmas season,
And every Christmas from now on.
You and our cute baby are my reason
To keep staying.. Here under the Sun.
Oh, and we’ll keep playin’ here under the Sun.
There is a fear in the darkness
A fear that makes crows scare
Passengers mutilated in likeness
For a purpose beyond the fair.
People in dissaray, glaring so bright
From another world, built out of sight
For a stallion of breaches
In the core of the sea where the Siren preaches
In stains of blood a song of the ages
Down, down, in the old rusted cages.
There’s a story with no title, that no one ever read.
On a bookshelf filled with dust and dreams, it lies on aching dread.
There’s no title to this story, for the title is long gone.
The abyss waits for its redemption, like an everlasting song.
It’s a story you can’t read, for the title makes it weed.
It’s just like all the others, appearing in a time of absolutely zero need.
There’s no story to this title, no action, no beginning and just nothing here to learn.
It’s just a story like no other. With no title, no meaning and it’s just absurd.
A lot of us are broken,
A lot of us leave in fear
For gratitude we hold no token,
We run scared from things that never really appear.
They twist the kinded soul
Like gusts of wind from kindred spirits
Resembling thorny pieces of charcoal
They fall with darkness and no merits.
Never again will they ever regain
The great white-headed beauty they once held
Only because they can not retain
The Power they had.. for now it is jailed
In their prison of hatred, doom and anxiety
So when they smile at you, you feel they are dead
You cry in lonely revery for their striking dread
Swearing upon an ice-cold star that you will seek propriety
When the bards sang their song,
We knew the timing was wrong
The days had passed out to the past
The decay was coming fast.
Hearing riders, four in their number,
The world was beyond its slumber
As things trembled in the world,
The question remained: what did we do of what we were told?