Formations, Outlines, and Manuscripts
The writer wrote of ways that love fled his pages. Twenty-two chapters long; deadline now approaches.
Close the doors and sing a serenade failure fills these lungs.
I am trapped.
The price of freedom the choice to breath.
I'm saying goodbye to the stage at the emporium tonight.
Leaving it for trusted memory to distort.
But now I'll aquaint you with the ruthless guild. They've got these black hearts filled with good intentions.
And now I'll aquaint you with the ruthless guild. They've got black hearts filled with good intentions.
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah... The grand curtains and bright lights focus on his falling tears.
The novel is written in disaster.
The guild screams for the gallows.
Their hearts have played their roles to key without missing a single beat.
Hey Poet... I usually find myself outside of grace just a moment before the crash.
Your words are so beautiful, You bring life to these failing lungs.
Hopeless: the name I bare
Gracious: the card You hold