The AtticThe attic was a musty realm Of smooth wood trunks and grit of dust, And fragile, wiry odds and ends, Of iron kettles, brown with rust.The Attic
And creeping past, the shadows whisper. The candle’s flicker, shapeless shows The crisp old photos faded dull Now voices of the voiceless known.
The swish of satiny, soft, cool cloth, The fragrance of the old perfume, Tiptoe with you in the past, Hum inside this silent room.
--
I'm not a gangster tonight Don't want to be a bad guy. If I stop now call me a quitter, If lies were cats you'd be a litter. I could bury you alive, But you might crawl out with a knife And kill me when I'm sleeping. I can't decide Whether you should live
--
I'm not a gangster tonight Don't want to be a bad guy. If I stop now call me a quitter, If lies were cats you'd be a litter. I could bury you alive, But you might crawl out with a knife And kill me when I'm sleeping. I can't decide Whether you should live
Enjoy your stay
I love your username, so cool
Previous PageNext Page