It’s hard to mend those bruises of the heart.
Those wounds which almost tore it apart.
Those wounds which almost tore it apart.
The deep cuts in my mind still make me cry.
Gashes of love are so alive, it will never dry.
Gashes of love are so alive, it will never dry.
In sweet slow breeze those wounds burn.
How to heal them, I never could learn.
How to heal them, I never could learn.
They keep me awake in cold, dark nights.
All the memories of pain, hidden out of lights.
All the memories of pain, hidden out of lights.
Now tears are dried in my eyes, only furies
I keep them now, as my CHERISED INJURIES.
I keep them now, as my CHERISED INJURIES.
this poem is AWESOME man!! uve got a wild imagination
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