Mist covers all to be seen while Aphrodite watches and laughs.
Softly she cries but her tears turn to mud.
The drops that fall are a bitter rememberrance of the past, waiting to be forgotton, always hidden, but never far.
Within the reach of cold fingertips, to be pulled out from below, she reaches and waits for another day, which may not come.
Softly she cries but her tears turn to mud.
The drops that fall are a bitter rememberrance of the past, waiting to be forgotton, always hidden, but never far.
Within the reach of cold fingertips, to be pulled out from below, she reaches and waits for another day, which may not come.
