Post by Rackinac on Jan 1, 2007 1:22:44 GMT -5
Once a white flower withered brown
In the old graveyard outside of town.
She sat on the ground, book in hand
He said nothing, not that he can.
She read aloud, very clear and firm
Every week, then the other ones turn.
She read to him, he changed the flower
Agian and agian she read to the specter.
He appeared and continued with the deal
He took the withered flower out of the veal
And replaced the old flower with a white one.
The clock strikes 12, and she began to run.
For eternity this continues on, and on
Even when the girl has passed on.
For even in death, not all do part
With strong bonds and a good heart.
In the old graveyard outside of town.
She sat on the ground, book in hand
He said nothing, not that he can.
She read aloud, very clear and firm
Every week, then the other ones turn.
She read to him, he changed the flower
Agian and agian she read to the specter.
He appeared and continued with the deal
He took the withered flower out of the veal
And replaced the old flower with a white one.
The clock strikes 12, and she began to run.
For eternity this continues on, and on
Even when the girl has passed on.
For even in death, not all do part
With strong bonds and a good heart.
