This muffled evidence, whispered in secret
the threadbare veil covering memories of meetings
and weaved of sorrows and of pleasures
as always draping the world in foreign hues
Is all this mine alone?
if so I step into what's a painter's palette
letting all those colours take possession
strange that you don't contend that right
Each man to each his world is that the truth?
But sear, how come that I'm the only one
living in a ranbow?
Originally Posted On Site: 2009-07-01 13:10:49
Last Login: 05.24.12
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