The beating drums, come to a conclusive end, whatever you can do to
the pain you mend.
The fire dying, the glow weaker and weaker. Artificially want more
light, working like a labcoat with a bleaker.
But spark no more, the flame is out; can one ever know what another
is thinking about.
The drums have but faded, living in pitch black; light up the
darkness my friend, keep your soul on track.
On a personal legend; must be heaven sent. Goodbye my angel, until
our circles cross once again.
the pain you mend.
The fire dying, the glow weaker and weaker. Artificially want more
light, working like a labcoat with a bleaker.
But spark no more, the flame is out; can one ever know what another
is thinking about.
The drums have but faded, living in pitch black; light up the
darkness my friend, keep your soul on track.
On a personal legend; must be heaven sent. Goodbye my angel, until
our circles cross once again.
Not related to music really, except for the fact that all a song
really is, is a poem written and sung to music with a rhythm and
melody.
So, in essence, this poem is loosely music related and therefore can
hang out on Rock NYC.
Word