Rob
Autor
One last candle... friend.
I just want to remember, how my soul once held fire...
touching, without pain, the flickering flame.
There's not much left I can handle...
the time I spend... trust I lend...
almost always the same...
it's life we should blame.
Day by day, my mind unravels...
dark games...
played by my own inner devils.
No one sees my weakness,
my true meaning of silent screaming...
I chose to speak less.
Skars and damage... kept it burning, underneath my perfect traceless skin.
And i still try... this is disturbing.
Some chosen can hold me... see me... really reveal me.
For the others, I'm just my faceless twin.
It's about her... no other.
about her shadow... and cover.
Like a sweet but toxic lover.
Now I see her sitting there...
on an old wooden chair.
Table holding arms... arms holding head...
filled with all these haunting fears that she had.
The illusion of this picture feels warm and nice...
staring into the candle... these beautiful eyes,
won't give up the fire... or flames.
Afterwards, the world ashames,
cause her fear remains unknown...
with her heartbeat chosen slown...
it's her soul which turns to ice...
cause life loves to strike twice.
In one hand, is the warm life of fire...
in the other, the calmness of ice some admire.
To much and you freeze or burn...
now it's your turn.
Learn to combine...
awake bit by bit your true you...
and the art to walk on both edges and still shine.
I just want to remember, how my soul once held fire...
touching, without pain, the flickering flame.
There's not much left I can handle...
the time I spend... trust I lend...
almost always the same...
it's life we should blame.
Day by day, my mind unravels...
dark games...
played by my own inner devils.
No one sees my weakness,
my true meaning of silent screaming...
I chose to speak less.
Skars and damage... kept it burning, underneath my perfect traceless skin.
And i still try... this is disturbing.
Some chosen can hold me... see me... really reveal me.
For the others, I'm just my faceless twin.
It's about her... no other.
about her shadow... and cover.
Like a sweet but toxic lover.
Now I see her sitting there...
on an old wooden chair.
Table holding arms... arms holding head...
filled with all these haunting fears that she had.
The illusion of this picture feels warm and nice...
staring into the candle... these beautiful eyes,
won't give up the fire... or flames.
Afterwards, the world ashames,
cause her fear remains unknown...
with her heartbeat chosen slown...
it's her soul which turns to ice...
cause life loves to strike twice.
In one hand, is the warm life of fire...
in the other, the calmness of ice some admire.
To much and you freeze or burn...
now it's your turn.
Learn to combine...
awake bit by bit your true you...
and the art to walk on both edges and still shine.
