Save from waters Lyrics —save— me— now, from the waters. To say, save me now. save— me— now, from your rivers. do —do— do —do And how do you think, I —been —never saved? do— do —do— do do you think, —

"Where is my bicycle?", The boy suddenly asked as he grabbles on the street, by the mud, and all the things felt by `the gutters. On the wet road, dangerously, almost near the passing cars, covers

They are branches of water, Yours, unstoppably bound to me. The salty waters of the sea, They seem to come out of my face, And the eyes, blue so sure, of sorrow. By the going thoughts, and the smaller

( Are you ready now? Walking at your door, Do you hear me speak? Writing —to your soul. Listening to sounds — of your many tears, Walking in your way —will you walk away? Oh, sunshine! You see me come?

Cover Letter Dear Captain. Noah White UEES Stanton There we were, in the vast space while many days went by unnoticed; We follow all the lights, and in darkness, we craved for new beginnings. Out of the

It was from the abyss that they all came; whispering in silent —the secret words to open the door, and with silence alone, almost mesmerizing, they secretly climbed there; A mysterious place of Dragons

Are they Rocks? The fallen petals The failed thoughts in thin air as they soon fall to wanders; How sown is the string of water? Do they watch away rambling and speaking, the remanence of names? Do they

How clueless is the lasting taste of lemonade, The Dining and drinking, which takes us to a mindful point, OF growing. How easy is it to forget sugar? The vast water in it, Which deliver us, to the point

Once there was a story; a time which began breathing out of a place of memory, which moment We searched to know well, as a recognizable pattern towards disaster. As a grant meaning of who we shouldn’t

They rise Today; all the flowers bring whistles to my ears, About this coming day of fall. how is it they find surrender? , Or cherish warm remanence, Of this cold December? Wishing spring in times for

MOMA

Thoughts of the Innocence

SnowMan

The — Linn’ing mirror, is my surrender, meaning which comes in yellow, —and closes in blue. So close to Olives, the swollen calling, the Linn'ing dreaming, of summing tinning. Of moons in swimming, while

Paper Towns

Marguerite By Rémy Rytepo

They are holding up on tress, The many facets of metamorphosis, Can you see them weaving upon the winds? The dreams of flowers transforming into the rain? Such pauses in nature, Oh —Ophelia” Their capsules

There is my last breath, a Catching fire, lighting the rain, Before death comes, only once I take the lead, of hearing you speaking in tongues of spiders, The Weaving trimming, the voices of trembling,

The story I will tell you, these storie my lips cannot let lose into the air without ears to catch them, and like other stories yes there is a prince. One perhaps that grow in mountain, disbanded , dethroned

The story I will tell you, these storie my lips cannot let lose into the air without ears to catch them, and like other stories yes there is a prince. One perhaps that grow in mountain, disbanded , dethroned