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dreams that will never die...

Like washing the rain...

What truths hidden in ackward

Encumbered

Sentences, that say less and more then they seem

Words, behind facades or yet more words.

What do they mean

I know the chords

They strike of forgiveness and wonder

And even if never uttered one must ponder

Upon yesterday and tomorrow

Of days of dreams and sorrow

We will never be JUST, even if that be the part we play

There will always be memory of what we used to say

But between that, and anything less. Well I'll take it any day

And ponder a past and the consequences of words we say

The pain

Hidden, like trying to wash the rain...

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