sixtysecondminute
ubw rookie
Joined: May 27, 2005
Location: Solihull, UK
Posts: 186
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| Posted: Sat Sep 03, 2005 6:55 am |
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It's a funny little thing this game we play called love,
Aint no instruction book,
No rules, no hope, no guarantee, no reciept,
No second chances,
I wrote a page in the book of love,
Splattered with ink, like blood,
And tore it out and burnt it,
When it suited me,
I read right through it,
Every word, and mine was nothing like,
The things I heard,
My entry stood alone, it screamed, it said,
LOVE IS DEAD,
It's a funny little mascurade, charade,
This thing that we call love,
No fun, no hope, it broke me up, I choke,
On every time I hear that word,
I wrote a page in the book of love,
Splattered with ink, like blood,
And tore it out and burnt it,
When it suited me,
I read right through it,
Every word, and mine was nothing like,
The things I heard,
My entry stood alone, it screamed, it said,
LOVE IS DEAD,
I walked into the cemetry,
Brought dancing shoes, and paint with me,
A grave marked 'love' is all I found,
And I danced and painted till the sun whent down,
I walked into the cemetry,
Brought dancing shoes, and paint with me,
A grave marked 'love' infront of me,
And I wrote 'good ridance' over 'RIP',
I wrote a page in the book of love,
Splattered with ink, like blood,
And tore it out and burnt it,
When it suited me,
I read right through it,
Every word, and mine was nothing like,
The things I heard,
My entry stood alone, it screamed, it said,
LOVE IS DEAD,
LOVE IS DEAD,
LOVE IS DEAD,
LOVE IS DEAD, |
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