sublime
I will never see him again, or at least not for a long time
What he said was a lie, although the way he told it was sublime
The tension between us was no more than a spark
The love that we had, was no more than lust
What seems to be light was dark
And what seems so real was dust
I will think of you for a couple of weeks
I will write a lot of poems about you
Until I smell something that reeks
And my passion was just a flu
What he said was a lie, although the way he told it was sublime
The tension between us was no more than a spark
The love that we had, was no more than lust
What seems to be light was dark
And what seems so real was dust
I will think of you for a couple of weeks
I will write a lot of poems about you
Until I smell something that reeks
And my passion was just a flu
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| Auteur: Rebecca Berendsen | 
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| Gecontroleerd door: christina | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 11 december 2009 | ||
| Thema's: | ||