Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Missing You...

Sings>It is never about the music, it never steers me wrong, and it is never about the words which accompany every song. The whispers of love that abruptly awakened me, found my bed and pillows empty.

It is never about the music, it never steers me wrong, and it is never about the words which accompany every song. The magic I feel is a reflection of your love, cast in the stars of the bluest skies above.

It is never about the music, it never steers me wrong, and it is never about the words which accompany every song. The restlessness inside is something I cannot hide, flames of bright could light the dark of night.

It is never about the music, it never steers me wrong, and it is never about the words which accompany every song. The memories of love, soaring high and flying free, remind me of the gift to believe.

It is never about the music, it never steers me wrong, and it is never about the words which accompany every song. The battle inside, reaches out beyond the mind, to feel your tenderness next to me.

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