Tomorrow, I''ll be old and used,

From time and years,What beauty those eyes seek,

wishful night, enlarged my sight, I

gain a lost so brightly dark, but do tell me, that in time,

I shall reep my findings, that the efforts strongly wrong are rightfully bound, to catch me blindly. Do I not contradict, a saying with another, but no I claim. From the time I was a child emotionally attached, my head was detached from the overall frame, still the colors weeped my clothes in reds, blues, yellows, and violets; I felt nothing said could wash away the pain felt, but do tell, the lies bleeded into a death, untold. Can't you see the frame is not to blame and I haven't committed a crime? I haven't step into a pool of sorrow, I have no stain that follows. My position is standing, trembling a ghost face, and I whisper in your ear, vibrations seep into the air, swallowing your breath, I hold my breath, catch a fraction of my death. The secret of stationary imagination follows our deepest scars and I weep my cries to her, the girl standing, trembling in front of my face, she hold my secrets, dear.