Some Words Escaping
Two hundred archers shoot their arrows
Straight into the hearts of long lost lovers.
Down old roads to oblivion we ramble,
Hungry and ragged though they’re paved with gold,
Our footfalls hit heavy, and heavy heads are held tall.
The unsaved become the saviours.
June 10th, 2009 at 7:15 pm
The saviours aren’t who we expect, rather who we need
We need those we don’t even know
Those we love are needed most of all
Look after them, and come cause i want you to
i love you