| There is nothing so sweet as the summer rose |


DeidreAlways behind curtains, Deidre endured far greater heartaches. Inside jaggedly keyed, Love meant nothing. Obviously painted, Quite reasonably spurned, The unloved valiant woman 'xcused your Zephyr.Deidre


To Think I'm Not Yet DeadIts funny the things you think The words that pop into your head When you realiseTo Think I'm Not Yet Dead
Somebody is dead All the things you have to say Meaning nothing when theyre said
The same words that are said The old clichés you say without thinking The same words that everyone has to say And later, alone and in your head When you remember that somebody that is dead All the things you come to realise
The strange and random things you realise That you are glad you never said For surely that would tarnish the memory of the dead Yet they echo
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Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
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Everything is talking, everything.
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Tell me What the Rain knows...
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