

The Wandering SpiritThe Wandering SpiritThe Wandering Spirit
The church bells are tolling, Their sound resounding in the air
Along with the cries of the ravens That perch upon the tower.
I stand behind my tombstone, As they lower my body into its grave Entombed inside the plush coffin Watching the faces of the so called loved ones.
The prayers are said, the ceremony completed; The funeral is over. The earth is piled high into the pit As I look upon the physical face granted unto me One last time.
I am buried, I am dead. Then why am I still standing here? I as


Look At MeIm having another panic attack.Look At Me
Yes, just because I dont look like I would be having rational thought, doesnt mean that Im not. I still know whats going on, its just Im having a hard time
breathing I whisper to you, as some sort of (non)explanation. That isnt the question you asked, and I know it. I suppose, in my defence even if I wanted to tell you the reason my breathing muscles have seized up it would probably take me a very long and painful time, with a lot of deep, noisy inhaling.
Look at me


I'll tell youIll tell you child, that I knew your motherI'll tell you
She was sweet, but strange, like no other
I remember the day she walked away
Only to come again.
Dont cry pretty girl, Ill put you up here
And together we well wait for the day or the year
When she will come home, and youll not be alone
If you wait, So will I
I am to tell you what? How did she look, and how did she sound?
You dont remember do you?
I met her once she made her round
Through this lonely part of France &n
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Mine, O thou Lord of life, send my roots rain.
My heart's a hole that needs to constantly be filled with love.
I followed the voice you gave to me but now I gotta find my own
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