As the moon rises beyond the curtains,
My heart beats in shameful despair.
Alas, my dreams, alas.
Whoever said art had to last?
A second, or a thousand years; does that make it any less?
You’re hurt, you’ve lost, and you don’t know how to go on. But you’re the gift and exactly what the world needs. Don’t stop now…
The hurt we’ve known, we never could face it. The world was ours, but we never could taste it.
