This is not a model fit for any mold. The twisted old and bitter tongues are reckless just as they are cold. Dwelling on the dying is wet fingers to the flame. And I cannot say that I believe in everything that you propose to me.
I`d rather learn from children. I`d rather see their world. In all it`s natural splendor, and all it`s harsh distress unknown. Not what`s old and jaded, forgotten or ignored. Or in the way of anything, there to keep the flame from burning.
I read the writing on the wall, and all I see is "Who has lost the sense?" I read the writing on the wall, and all I see is "Got to get it, to give."
All that I care to know is what you`re wondering. All that I care to see is what you`re seeing. I want to know what you know, not the little things you`ll learn to gaurd you (All the little things we`ll teach you).
I read the writing on the wall, and all I see is, "Who has lost the sense?" I read the writing on the wall, and all I see is, "Got to get it, to give."
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