We are such stuff as dreams are made on.. And our little lives are rounded with sleep.
The curse is in knowing you'll wake from
the dreaming. But, I sleep for the dreams that I won't ever see.
I've made friends with the frigid winter winds. Even in these summer nights, it's chilling me again.
Straight to my bones.
Every time the breeze grows cold..I can feel you letting go.So I let you go.
We keep our love hidden down with the roots. I was waiting for the roses to bloom.
Nothing stays clean when you drag it through the dirt..Nothing can grow when it doesn't have room.
"You are the perfect petals of broken flowers pressed between the pages of stories only you will read..
I hope the words can hold you even when you've been forgotten..
Between flowerless novels that line our shelves..
Filled with words we won't remember reading.
And when you grow tired of happy endings..
Because inside of our story, you'll be pressed petals..as perfect as the day you were picked..when Kismet kissed our lips. "
Show me just how easy my words can break
when you bend them to mean what you want them to say. Sometimes you wake up.. Sometimes you die. And sometimes when you fall... You fucking fly.
So this is where our love will lie. The You and I in Suicide.