Monday, April 11, 2005

Melancholia

I dreamt I saw my death last night
My funeral, yet a lovely sight
Purple flowers all around
Not a dry eye to be found
And if someone asked me why,
They would hear me cry.
“I did it for love, not of me,
As a caged bird, I yearned to be free.
You said you loved, but you only thought so
I guess neither of us will ever know.”

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