She waited for him to meetHe never metShe waited for him to talkHe never spokeShe waited for him to textHe never didShe waited for him to loveHe never caredShe got tired and walked awayHe now waits .
You were like a star to me.You have always been for me.Either if it's day or nightYou cared,loved, protected;Like a brother, friendMore than a friend;Yeah, best friend.Everytime when i look at the starsThat reminds me of youThey say dead souls become stars.Are you a star ?Do you still check on me?I missed you when you were goneI still do.So, my dear best friend;You are the brightest star i knew
The girl who loves to be aloneNow fears to be lonelyThe girl who smiles easilyNow fake a smileThe girl who loves to hear musicNow lives in itShe isn't the same, she changed a lotShe stayed quiet for a reasonYou know why, uh?She wants to make them happyShe wants to make their problem go awayShe loved them more than herTo give them happiness she lost her ownSo she remained silent
I'm a pretty little doll to your eyeYou chose me when you found me fascinating;And thrown me like every dolls at last.Then i was the perfect one; Nowa shitty one.Then your happiness ; Nowyour frustration.Then your girl ; NowNow your known stranger.I wish i don't have heart .So i would've been your doll forever.
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.