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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Biên tập viên
Feel
This darkness cooled my light
We move to different sides
I poured the guilt right over my eyes
As I rose to greet the sky
I've never felt this before
See you dead on the floor
I can't recall a single day
That's gonna make this pain slip away
My senses have been so cold
Didn't know how to feel or hold
For a second I felt something in you
For a second I believed in you
And I want to know
And I want to be
And I want to feel
And I want to know
And I want to be
And I want to feel
And I want to know
And I want to be
And I want to feel
And I want to know
And I want to be
And I want to feel
We could, my friend
We can
We could, my friend
We can
We should not end
I want to be part of...
And I want to know
And I want to be
And I want to feel