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
Walk
Find myself singing the same songs everyday
Ones that make me feel good
When things behing the smiles ain't okay
Around and over and in-between the seas
I need to be on top of a mountain
Where I can be see everything
Cause this paranoia's getting old
Now as I open my eyes to start another day
I'm in a pile of puke
Empty bag of execuses
My love for friends and family
you know I need them
And under a sun that's seen it all before
My feet are so cold
And I can't believe that I have to bang my head against this wall again
But the blows they have just a little more space in-between them
Gonna take a breath and try again.