Pain is the mother carrying the artist in her womb
If spirits were to kill pain, there will be no artist born in to the world
and The world would be a desolate painting that the Artist unseen forgot to finish
The magic of writing is one doesn't have to worry about what people think
If spirits were to kill pain, there will be no artist born in to the world
and The world would be a desolate painting that the Artist unseen forgot to finish
The magic of writing is one doesn't have to worry about what people think
Because the ink and words are the writers blood and soul
Shred the words till the desire to do so speaks of its inability to reason with its thoughts
There is a magic in words that's a one time contract
enables us to connect what we see and what we feel,
What others couldn't see or feel!
The freedom from all that comes from Earth and said to be formed somewhere in the deep dark blues
Words that can turn a smile and a tear in to a song
A lullaby to put the baby with in to sleep till the dreams consume the eyes
Until they see the World the words reside in !
Solitude is a long cry with words around to make sail.
LDIAGRHKT, SSAIINNT, WWOORRLDDS, crazy yet if one can read between the lines,
The magic of words can be felt !
Shred the words till the desire to do so speaks of its inability to reason with its thoughts
There is a magic in words that's a one time contract
enables us to connect what we see and what we feel,
What others couldn't see or feel!
The freedom from all that comes from Earth and said to be formed somewhere in the deep dark blues
Words that can turn a smile and a tear in to a song
A lullaby to put the baby with in to sleep till the dreams consume the eyes
Until they see the World the words reside in !
Solitude is a long cry with words around to make sail.
LDIAGRHKT, SSAIINNT, WWOORRLDDS, crazy yet if one can read between the lines,
The magic of words can be felt !