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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Hurt
Hurt to think that you lied to me
Hurt way down deep inside of me
You said your love was true and we'd never part
Now you want someone new and it breaks my heart
I'm hurt much more than you'll ever know
Hurt because I still love you so
But even though you've hurt me like no one else could do
I would never, never hurt you
Hurt to think that you lied to me
Hurt way down deep inside of me
You said your love was true and we'd never part
Now you want someone new and it breaks my heart
I'm hurt much more than you'll ever know
Hurt because I still love you so
But even though you've hurt me like no one else could do
I would never, never hurt you