I was in between.
I wasn’t offering.
I was a burnin’ branch.
Close to feeling tall.
Almost afraid to fall.
I was made of chance.
And when the colours bleed,
Mix of my memories,
When I ride the moon.
I’ll just be a sound you heard.
I’ll be a foreign word.
It’s me and your type of blue,
And I leave that here with you.
Ohhh
Lines wither,
And you got a face like no other,
I’ll keep it where I see things right.
Ohhh
Darkness comes,
But you got a way like no other one,
I’ll keep it where my black keeps light.
Make me a mirror of,
All that I cannot love.
Let me hold the cast,
Of my favourite years,
The truth how they gave me here,
And that that they last,
Let that be my last.
(Source: rangywoots)
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I was in between. I wasn’t offering. I was a burnin’ branch. Close to feeling tall. Almost afraid to fall. I was made of...
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This is becoming an autumn appreciate blog… Starting now.
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