LoveIts a flowerSo prettySo calmingBut like every flowerIf you dont work to keep it healthyit will dieWith it comes workIf you cant keep it aliveThen why believe you deserve itDo you really deserve it?
Ive lost all confidenceGiven upI have nothing leftIm not perfectAnd it seems that i was never worth itIve grown physically sickIts grown too toughA Bottomless pitIts on my mindThoughts of suicideI wanna leave I've had enough
If i were to kill myselfDont be sadtheres nothing anyone could doIts just how it endsBecause whats a lifeIf its without youI dont want you to feel obligated to be with meSo from now onNothing against youLike you saidHow i feel is just how i feel
God, if this were enough,That I see things bare to the buffAnd up to the buttocks in mire;That I ask nor hope nor hire,Nut in the husk,Nor dawn beyond the dusk,Nor life beyond death:God, if this were faith!Having felt thy wind in my faceSpit sorrow and disgrace,Having seen thine evil doomIn Golgotha and Khartoum,And the brutes, the work of thine hands,Fill with injustice landsAnd stain with blood the sea:If still in my veins the glee
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green:Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song,Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor.