I write my woes, what's tomarrow? I traced your face, only to regret the way I made your fate mine. I'm dishonest and gray, and I cry when angels deserve to die with their apprehensive suicide. I don't need to lie, I'm all out of faith and the perfect sky is tall. I might feel enought pain to force fate. I wash away your sorrow with my tears, as I twist the knife into my acheing heart. When second thoughts of forgivness come through, it doesn't matter what I do. The soul is lovely in the midst of others, but it's dark before dawn and light never shadows.
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