What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Interstate Love Song
Waitin' on a sunday afternoon for what I've read between the lines - Your lies
Feelin' Like a hand in rusted shame. So do you laugh or does it cry - Reply?
Leavin' On a southern train only yesterday you lied
Promises of what I seemed to be only watched the time go by
All of these things you said to me
Breathing Is the hardest thing to do with all I've said and all that's dead for
you
You lied - Goodbye
Leavin' on a southern train only yesterday you lied
Promises of what I seemed to be only watched the time go by
All of these things I said to you