Tue Mar 03 2020
Never again will I gaze upon crystal skies Wrapped in bold lies And feel the wrath Of my Father's cries. I yearn for the sound of her But not the touch, for a sure Recipe for distress I need remedy, a cure. All that is gone is gone Is unattainable, forlorn, under the setting sun It doesn't matter anymore, it's already too late I wish we could be one. Retrospective thinking is the worst kind of thinking Tinkering minds constructing painful devices Fear of the past turns into dread of the future And all that was left behind, is now lost.