Story
Story of you and I, A tale that no one would talk of. There was no palace, no moon and stars shinning. I was moving gradually, learning to walk past the odds, Odds unseen, breeding every moment in my heart's dark chamber. My feet burnt and bled seeing the death of all that I knew was serene, and pious. Who wrote the script with the burning coal on the skin, Wounds so deep and never to heal. All that I was looking for was coherence in the chords But, the music was dead and rhythm choked Slowly melting candle was ringing in the days of end. I never read my story my friend.