Does anybody know
that feeling?
When you just want to cry.
Nothing is really wrong,
no one really hurt you,
and you don't really understand
why your pillow is calling your name
to lay your head down and cry.
You want to express just how much you love him
and that your salvation is his arms.
That the green of the flowers gets automatically brighter
and the trees don't hunch over with fear,
that the sound of his voice breaks the silence
and the touch of his lips brings tears to your eyes.
That his beauty makes you thank Aphrodite
and his genius shies you away,
but the thing that makes you cry is the worst of them all
he's not here and you seem lost in your world.
You become a puppet of their orders;
your mind looses its thoughts.
The simplicity of everything
turns the world to black and white,
and the shadows of intrigue
are gone.
The world is left like a medieval painting,
in shades of brown and gold,
which shows no empathy,
just facts that are dying flowers.
You want to cry because you don't understand
why.
that feeling?
When you just want to cry.
Nothing is really wrong,
no one really hurt you,
and you don't really understand
why your pillow is calling your name
to lay your head down and cry.
You want to express just how much you love him
and that your salvation is his arms.
That the green of the flowers gets automatically brighter
and the trees don't hunch over with fear,
that the sound of his voice breaks the silence
and the touch of his lips brings tears to your eyes.
That his beauty makes you thank Aphrodite
and his genius shies you away,
but the thing that makes you cry is the worst of them all
he's not here and you seem lost in your world.
You become a puppet of their orders;
your mind looses its thoughts.
The simplicity of everything
turns the world to black and white,
and the shadows of intrigue
are gone.
The world is left like a medieval painting,
in shades of brown and gold,
which shows no empathy,
just facts that are dying flowers.
You want to cry because you don't understand
why.
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