10:29 p.m. - 2012-09-11
W/O MAN
Through the moral clash, I pulled the curtain And loved you still. The horse would ride With the ghost of me; My heart carried Every day, its heavy air. A woman's soul is thick As the sorrow it drowns in; And when it dies, its spirit flies. There's a heaven in the end. It's called freedom; And no matter how slow the death, She must die to get there. It's becoming a woman, And leaving that little girl body, Rotting with the little girl heart In your hell and the devil you let inside.
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