it started with my buzzing ears. ask for attention in such demand about a tale
a tale that needs to tell. she was a mother of bohemian
curly hair scented patchouli flower. under the maple creeper
those moments felt peculiar. she was starring at the sky most of the time with her squinted eyes trying to compromise. she was sadden by the broken grass
unfriendly air made the leaves don't last
says the wind to her wise. the words may not all be the same
but we understand the difference that day. she was starring at the sky most of the time with her squinted eyes trying to compromise. she was sadden by the broken grass
unfriendly air made the leaves don't last
says the wind to her wise. and i was sitting there by surprise