The power of love is beyond any one person.
But together we may be able to get the power
to love eachother.
The world as we know it could have
ended, yet I always pictured us
The world as I knew it has ended,
we're still apart and I never see your
The world as others know it hasn't changed
and won't, they pretend to know, but
The world in general serves of
little purpose without the confort of your
Even to ignore me, I am
Even to turn around, I will
still be there.
Close your eyes, turn out the lights,
no matter what happens I will be there,
and now more then ever I will be around,
for I am part of you and part of the
world you created.
The world could perish and only you and I remain
and still you would not see me here.
I don't believe you don't see the pain in my eyes
and hear the pain in my voice,
I believe you notice it and choose to ignore it,
and for that, you are weak.
The people that walk by us are the ones who don't deserve to know us.
The people that stop and watch us are the ones that see in us what they don't in themselves.
The people that stay and get to know us are the ones that we remember, the ones that we help, the ones that we confide in, the ones we learn to love.
For the most wild, yet most homely
narrative which i am about to pen, I
neither expect nor solicit belief.
Once upon a midnight dreary
during the whole of a dull, dark, and
soundless day in the autumn of the
year, when the clouds hung oppressively
low in the heavens, i had been
passing alone, on horseback, through a
singularly dreary tract of country;
and at length found myself, and the shades
of the evening drew on, within view of the
melancholy house of usher.
I was sick, sick unto death, with that long
agony, and when they at length unbound me,
and i was permitted to sit, i felt that my sences
were leaving me.
The thousand injuries of Fortunato i had borne as
i best could, but when he ventured upon insult,
i vowed revenge.
True! Nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous i had
been and am; but why will you say that i am mad?
I think we painted an imaginary world,
one that no one could touch but us,
one that was to perfect to be true,
one that in the end hurt us more than helped us.
In our imaginary world nothing could go wrong,
but as soon as the door to reality opened we were lost,
we had left our world behind us and drifted into unknown
territory were we once had walked, but never together.
We found paths we had never taken and ended up alone,
apart from one another, with nothing but memories
of what we once had.