Someone cares to listen,
Of course.
Several someones do.
They care,
They listen,
They send their warm words on gentle wings.
Appreciation runs amok when poor Samæl plays in the mud.
People, however?
Oh, despised people.
The bane of happiness.
The destroyers of love.
People are the problem in this world of friends.
People do this, and people do that.
People build cities.
People write books.
People make love.
People raise families.
People hold jobs.
In the end, people do everything,
Except the important things.
People don't know what love is.
People destroy everything to get nothing.
The superficial happiness,
They always seem to want,
Coming from a hundred dead faces,
And a few numbers.
Really, the only person one wants to listen,
Can't hear over the roar in her head.
The one person that needs to hear the stories,
Needs to hear the truth of one inside,
Has to many people listening to her so loudly,
That she can't hear the whispers under the din.
Therein lies the problem.
Listen quietly,
And I'll tell you stories,
And truths till morning comes no more.
Listen with your mouth
And the words fly straight to the sky. |
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