The falling leaves drift by the window, the autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses, the sunburned hands I used to hold.
They say it's your birthday, well its my birthday too, yeah!
I didn't love myself, so something was always wrong - I sang an unsatisfied song, for change, I always longed.
Soon you shall rise into the sky, as you always do.
Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.
(Hint: it's not about the finger.)
Who believes in love at first sight?
Who says love is irrational?
I saw clearly who had placed the stone in the way of the water's course - it was I who had disrupted my own pure flow. I had done myself this disservice.
One becomes two, two becomes four, four becomes the multitude of forevermore.
Fortunately, you never have to find out what it feel like in your own skin.
What do you carry with you, what do you leave behind?