Wish I was you,Can enjoy every second of the scenery,Free to go anywhere,No one asks why or scolds you,They even praises you for your beauty,Wish I was you.
Don't show feelings,Never react to something,Don't look them in the eye,Don't show the suffering,Never utter a word.They never think that you are the one,They're just using you,For something they don't want to touch.So just do it,That's how they show the 'love',Don't be fool,You know it from the beginning.Did you tell them that you wanna die?Yeah? So do they believe it?They think it's a joke? right?HAHAHAH, I knew it,
It feels like a tree without leaves,No one appreciates me,Too scared to make my own food,Even if there is photosynthesis,Too dark until no one saw me,Trying to make oxygen for someone breath,But I also don’t use carbon dioxide much,ButThanks to the wind even though I couldn’t feel it,But it was always with me.I think I'd better be cut,I'm too useless for being a tree
I want to stay with him all the time,I wanted to hug he and say"It's okay, you did it right."I want to read a book with him,I want to cook for he,I also want to feel his warm body,I want to hear his voice,I want to be the only girl in his mind,I want to hold his hand,I want to feel loved too,I want to stay with him all the time,But can I get him?Just because he doesn't exist?
THEY have taken the gable from the roof of clayOn the long swede pile. They have let in the sunTo the white and gold and purple of curled frondsUnsunned. It is a sight more tender-gorgeousAt the wood-corner where Winter moans and dripsThan when, in the Valley of the Tombs of Kings,A boy crawls down into a Pharaoh's tombAnd, first of Christian men, beholds the mummy,God and monkey, chariot and throne and vase,Blue pottery, alabaster, and gold.But dreamless long-dead Amen-hotep lies.This is a dream of Winter, sweet as Spring.
Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn :It listens, listens. Taller trees beyondListen. The moon at the unruffled pondStares. And you sing, you sing.That star-enchanted song falls through the airFrom lawn to lawn down terraces of sound,Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground ;While all the night you sing.My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee,As all night long I listen, and my brainReceives your song, then loses it againIn moonlight on the lawn.Now is your voice a marble high and white,Then like a mist on fields of paradise ;Now is a raging fire, then is like ice,Then breaks, and it is dawn.
I shall return again; I shall returnTo laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyesAt golden noon the forest fires burn,Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies.I shall return to loiter by the streamsThat bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses,And realize once more my thousand dreamsOf waters rushing down the mountain passes.I shall return to hear the fiddle and fifeOf village dances, dear delicious tunesThat stir the hidden depths of native life,Stray melodies of dim remembered runes.I shall return, I shall return again,To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.