The Loss of Love
All through an empty place I go,
And find her not in any room;
The candles and the lamps I light
Go down before a wind of gloom.
Thick-spraddled lies the dust about,
A fit, sad place to write her name
Or draw her face the way she looked
That legendary night she came.
The old house crumbles bit by bit;
Each day I hear the ominous thud
That says another rent is there
For winds to pierce and storms to flood.
My orchards groan and sag with fruit;
Where, Indian-wise, the bees go round;
I let it rot upon the bough;
I eat what falls upon the ground.
The heavy cows go laboring
In agony with clotted teats;
My hands are slack; my blood is cold;
I marvel that my heart still beats.
I have no will to weep or sing,
No least desire to pray or curse;
The loss of love is a terrible thing;
They lie who say that death is worse.
poem by Countee Cullen
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The Bed
This is the place where she lay her head
When she went to bed at night
And this is the place our children were conceived
Candles lit the room brightly at night
And this is the place where she cut her wrists
That odd and fateful night
And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
This is the place where we used to live
I paid for it with love and blood
And these are the boxes that she kept on the shelf
Filled with her poetry and stuff
And this is the room where she took the razor
And cut her wrists that strange and fateful night
And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
I never would have started if Id known
That its end this way
But funny thing, Im not at all sad
That it stopped this way
This is the place where she lay her head
When she went to bed at night
And this is the place our children were conceived
Candles lit the room brightly at night
And this is the place where she cut her wrists
That odd and fateful night
And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Music Festival
The beat of the music goes THUD! THUD! THUD!
As revellers dance around, ankle deep, in thick, gooey mud.
Bedecked in waterproofs and their designer Wellington boots,
The festival goers are all having themselves a right old hoot.
Famous bands have been booked to headline.
The organisers pray that the weather stays fine.
Revellers of every age – both young and old,
Are wrapped up against the wild wind, so cold.
The fans sway from side to side and wave their hands,
As they sing along at the tops of their voices to the bands.
Some fans are here to see their favourite bands in the flesh,
While others want to check out talent, that’s new and fresh.
Despite the mud, there’s a smile on every face
Of the fans who, each year, flock to this place.
Some girls wear pretty flowers in their hair.
At their heroes on stage, they stand and stare.
The singer on stage, stands and sings famous hit after hit,
As the drummer behind him, bashes away on the drum kit.
Heard are the strains of electro-acoustic and bass guitars.
To be here, many bands and their fans have travelled far.
Everyone really looks forward to this wonderful weekend,
When they can listen to wicked sounds and make new friends.
Fans sing along at the top of the voices, until they croak.
The rain falls down again, and the poor fans get soaked.
Everyone is feeling happy and spirits are riding really high,
Despite the fact, not a single fan has managed to stay very dry.
Girls jump up and down and wildly scream.
Their perfectly made-up faces excitedly beam.
As evening falls and we head on into the inky night,
Mobile phones are held aloft and there’s a sea of light.
By the end of the night, everyone’s feeling drained,
But they’ll return tomorrow, ready to do it all again!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Homeless
Dry and cold were the bitter winds
that crackled the ice on the panes.
Dry and cold were the old woman's hands,
red and raw from the pains.
Old were these winds that had no end.
They surfaced every winter.
Old were the hands that were this woman's
that felt as if they would splinter.
The winter winds were not welcome
for she had no place to go.
Looking for shelter from the cold,
she welcomed the sight of snow.
For the snow would blanket the box she was in
for a night or two.
She stayed inside it for many long hours
as if it were an igloo.
All through the hours she rubbed her hands.
Through a slit she looked to view,
looking for a slant of sunshine soon
but still the cold winds blew.
This is the plight of the homeless.
This is a curse on our lands.
They found her dead when the sun finally came
with stiff and frozen hands.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Cruel Winds of Winter
Got up this morning, no sun in my eyes,
The house is so cold, no warmth to the fire,
My love is gone, he took all my desire,
And cruel winds of winter howled all night.
My love could warm me in the coldest time,
Bring the light of day to the darkest night,
As tears of my sorrow fall from my eyes,
The cruel winds of winter cry in delight.
Pull on my coat, keep the chill from my side,
I walk by the sea, the salt stings my eye,
The caps are all gray, like clouds in the sky,
And with those cruel winds of winter, I cry.
As tears of my sorrow fall to the sand,
My love is not here to warn my cold hand,
He’s gone like the sun from this harsh, gray land,
And only the wind seems to understand.
This endless winter has replaced his light,
My sweet love gone, no warmth in my sight,
I drift lost and lonely, no sleep I find,
Still those winds cry with me deep in the night.
My heart so heavy, life has no delight,
And the cruel winds of winter, torment my night.
poem by Teresa Dearing
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Looking in the Fire
The snow falls soft and thick. My cedar bough
Sways up and down, and scratches on the glass.
The wind sighs in the chimney, as I sit,
With elbows on my knees, before the fire,
Resting a crumpled chin in hollow'd palms.
There is great trouble in the cold and dark;
And other girls shrink off and steal away,
To crouch in lonely rooms and look at fires,
And look at their dead joys and living griefs,—
But they are pitied. None would pity me.
Friends come to seek them, and lay tender hands
On their bow'd heads and sore and restless hearts.
They find the wound, and drop the healing oil;
They lift the burden off, or make it light.
But they would smile, unless they laugh'd, at mine.
O still, warm fire, you will not bubble up
In mocking flames,—your heart will soon be cold!
O wind—for you have seen the roses bloom,
And the shrunk petals fall and drift away—
You hear, and sob and sigh as you go past!
Is unrequited love so sad a thing?
Ay, ay,—but this is even sadder still;
To want to love, and not to have the power—
To meet your king at last with empty hands—
To be so young, and to have squander'd all!
Alas, alas! to know your wine is sour—
To have loved wrong, with love despoil'd of trust,
Dishonour'd love, that mix'd itself with hate,—
To see the pearl of price laid at your feet,
And know your wealth is gone for dross and lies!
Ay, 'tis the saddest thing to want to love,
To want to cling, when you have lost your strength—
To feel the ashes choking up the hearth,
And think how bright a fire there might have been,—
To know when you are loved, too late—too late!
poem by Ada Cambridge
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First Love
I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Animal
I look out over this dusty ridge ~~ I look around me and wonder why I am alone all the time ~~ Even though I know I am not ~~ Wondering why I feel this way ~~ I feel as if a animal is tearing me apart on the inside ~~ I want to say something about the feeling of claws ripping though my chest ~~ I feel the wind pick up ~~ I notice the clouds ~~ I want the hurt in my chest to stop ~~ I look down into the valley of this place ~~ Knowing I am so far up, making the trees look like ants ~~ It starts to rain, as it rains I start to cry ~~ All I want to know is what happened ~~ Why won’t you let me know you after all this ~~I am soaked to the bone ~~ It is a cool rain ~~ The animal is still clawing me apart on the inside ~~ I tell myself that I can do something about it ~~ The more I start to realize what I can do to fix this ~~ The more the hurt stops, the animal stops for now ~~ My knee’s fall to the ground with a heavy thud ~~ The animal starts to pace ~~ I see the mixture of rain and mud clouds from it ~~ Then as more happens, as I try to fix it ~~ All it does is make the animal return ~~ The memories return ~~ My heart starts racing ~~ The animal is more fierce then before ~~ The hurt returns, along with all the heart ache ~~ The rest of my body grows weak as it start’s clawing in my chest ~~ My body falls the rest of the way to the ground with another heavy thud ~~More mud and dust clouds raise up ~~ The animal claws are like razors in my chest ~~ My face is now laying upon the mixture of mud and dust ~~ My limbs go numb ~~ I can hear the animal’s roaring in my ears ~~ I can feel my eyes slip shut ~~ I can’t see anything but black ~~ I know it won’t be long before I let the animal have it’s way ~~ All I wanted to do is know you ~~ I can feel the animal starting at my heart ~~ The animal starts to clam as I take my last breath of life ~~ Then I know is it all over, and I’m gone ~~ There is finally peace ~~
poem by Marla Smith
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The House
there is no other place to go
after work
when the darkness of the night
starts to hover
on my roof
this house where i rest my feet
where i put my hands
where i shut my mouth
and you are there
moving from one corner to another
asking where i put some bones
of my body
you sing as you once knew the songs
the ones that i love
that which from where my heart rests
and lulled
this is the house, a mere house
where i put my body
safely
no longer a home
my soul like a little bird had flown somewhere
years ago
i know where it is sleeping
you ask me
but i will not tell you
how will you ever know?
the place
it is so quiet
you are restless and noisy and messy
so loveless
so sad and you keep on laughing taunting
about my loss
my death
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rappers
Rappers flow
With lyrics they curse
Prosper making dollars
By and by they will go
At times for some, meeting death
A turn for the worse
So often
From the dead of night
Till' the dawns early light
Feeling their pain
Ruling their plight
Peace, love and hate
Feelings of desperation
Pierce their souls
Some with truth
Heart felt pain
Some with a war stick
They watch it rain
On stage, another drama
Stories of desperation
Agony
Triumph
Degradation
Bless them
Pray for them
For at times
They too
Need love
poem by Matt Mondschein
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A Curse For A Nation
I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'
I faltered, taking up the word:
'Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.
'For I am bound by gratitude,
By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me.'
'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven.'
'Not so,' I answered. 'Evermore
My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:
'For parked-up honors that gainsay
The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:
'For love of freedom which abates
Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:
'For an oligarchic parliament,
And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?'
'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done within thy gate.'
'Not so,' I answered once again.
'To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down.'
'Therefore,' the voice said, 'shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.
'And thou shalt take their part to-night,
Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good.'
So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,
What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.
The Curse
Because ye have broken your own chain
With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong
On souls of others, -- for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.
Because yourselves are standing straight
In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time
On writhing bond-slaves, -- for this crime
This is the curse. Write.
Because ye prosper in God's name,
With a claim
To honor in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly
In strangling martyrs, -- for this lie
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,
And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare -- O shame!
To utter the thought into flame
Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,
Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath
Shall favor the cause.
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law
To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within
Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.
When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge His elect
And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe
That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.
When wise men give you their praise,
They shall praise in the heat of the phrase,
As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true,
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do
Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.
When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate
As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame
Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.
Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun
Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe
With a curse of yours.
This is the curse. Write.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Egoists
TWO strangers, from opposing poles,
Meet in the torrid zone of Love:
And their desire seems set above
The limitation of their souls.
This is the trap; this is the snare,
This is the false, enchanting light,
And when it smoulders into night,
How can each know the other is there?
They own no bond of common speech;
Each, from far shores by wild winds brought,
Gropes for some cord of common thought
To draw the other within reach.
Each when the dark tide drowns their star,
Cries out, 'Thou art not one with me:
One flesh we seemed when eyes could see,
But now, how far thou art! How far!'
Each calling, 'Come! be mine! be wise!'
Stands obstinately in his place,
How can these two come face to face,
Till light spring from their meeting eyes?
Could both but once cry, 'Far thou art,
But I am coming!' How the beat
Of waves that part them would retreat,
Resurge and find them, heart to heart!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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English Project
I heard an explosion today near our house. I was so scared that I got my gun quickly and looked for my uncle. Surprisingly, he was still asleep in his room. After I checked on him, I ran outside the house and there was smoke and dust everywhere. The stench of gunpowder tickled my nose horribly. I looked for dead people but couldn’t see anything or anyone because of the dust. When the dust lifted up, there were bodies and blood everywhere. At the corner of the building a block away from our house, I saw a familiar body lying on the ground. When I came closer, I realised that it was my friend, Ali, and he was... dead! I was so shocked that I ran into our house and did not leave my bed for the rest of the day. The only thing that I knew that time is that I HATE THIS LAND.
poem by Jas Andrada
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To J. S.
The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.
And me this knowledge bolder made,
Or else I had not dare to flow
In these words toward you, and invade
Even with a verse your holy woe.
'Tis strange that those we lean on most,
Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed,
Fall into shadow, soonest lost:
Those we love first are taken first.
God gives us love. Something to love
He lends us; but, when love is grown
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.
This is the curse of time. Alas!
In grief I am not all unlearn'd;
Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass;
One went, who never hath return'd.
He will not smile--not speak to me
Once more. Two years his chair is seen
Empty before us. That was he
Without whose life I had not been.
Your loss is rarer; for this star
Rose with you thro' a little arc
Of heaven, nor having wander'd far
Shot on the sudden into dark.
I knew your brother: his mute dust
I honour and his living worth:
A man more pure and bold and just
Was never born into the earth.
I have not look'd upon you nigh,
Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep.
Great nature is more wise than I:
I will not tell you not to weep.
And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew,
Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain,
I will not even preach to you,
"Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."
Let Grief be her own mistress still.
She loveth her own anguish deep
More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done--to weep or not to weep.
I will not say "God's ordinance
Of death is blown in every wind;"
For that is not a common chance
That takes away a noble mind.
His memory long will live alone
In all our hearts, as mournful light
That broods above the fallen sun,
And dwells in heaven half the night.
Vain solace! Memory standing near
Cast down her eyes, and in her throat
Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.
I wrote I know not what. In truth,
How should I soothe you anyway,
Who miss the brother of your youth?
Yet something I did wish to say:
For he too was a friend to me:
Both are my friends, and my true breast
Bleedeth for both: yet it may be
That only silence suiteth best.
Words weaker than your grief would make
Grief more. 'Twere better I should cease;
Although myself could almost take
The place of him that sleeps in peace.
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,
While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.
Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.
Nothing comes to thee new or strange,
Sleep full of rest from head to feet:
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Empty time, empty place. Empty heart, empty space.
Empty time, empty place.
Empty heart, empty space.
Give a little, fight a war
Take a lot, there is more.
Left to die, all alone.
Blackened sins to atone.
In a place by a stream,
in a dark, empty dream.
In a room candles glow.
Truth prevails if you know.
Something sweet and something blue.
Something with a natural hue.
Beautiful Day
The heart is a bloom
Shoots up through the stony ground
There's no room
No space to rent in this town
You're out of luck
And the reason that you had to care
The traffic is stuck
And you're not moving anywhere
You thought you'd found a friend
To take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand
In return for grace
It's a beautiful day
Sky falls, you feel like
It's a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
You're on the road
But you've got no destination
You're in the mud
In the maze of her imagination
You love this town
Even if that doesn't ring true
You've been all over
And it's been all over you
It's a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
It's a beautiful day
Touch me
Take me to that other place
Teach me
I know I'm not a hopeless case
See the world in green and blue
See China right in front of you
See the canyons broken by cloud
See the tuna fleets clearing the sea out
See the Bedouin fires at night
See the oil fields at first light
And see the bird with a leaf in her mouth
After the flood all the colors came out
It was a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
Beautiful day
Touch me
Take me to that other place
Reach me
I know I'm not a hopeless case
What you don't have you don't need it now
What you don't know you can feel it somehow
What you don't have you don't need it now
Don't need it now
Was a beautiful day
song performed by by U2 from All that you can't leave behind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tonight, Am In Love With The Rain
Tonight, am in love with the rain
The beating sound on my window pane
The howling wind, the dripping water
Man and beast seeking shelter
Am in love with the flashing light
The roaring thunder deep in the night
Am wondering how frightening it would be
To meet a storm in the open sea
Am in love with pools and puddles
Splashing water and the ripples
And waving wipers of cars driving by
Lighted images of raindrops from the sky
Am in love with cold water on my feet
As i take a walk on the empty street
And i love to have a bath in the rain
To melt away this lingering strain
But i dont always love the rain!
Sometimes, it brings memories of yesterdays pain
And my thoughts would mingle for too long
With the tune of the its mournful song
Sometimes, it brings the thoughts of storms at sea
And that fearsome waves that benumb me
And i, standing, wondering how
I sailed through her fiercest jaw
Sometimes, it brings the thought of death,
Which is the curse upon all birth
And reminding me how times fly
And how one day all flesh shall lie
Tonight my emotions are running deep
With things that make me laugh and weep
Tonight, here in my dingy room
I see flashes of gloom and bloom
My age long fears, are muffled by the pelting rain
And my common tears flushed down the drain
Tonight, am in love with the rain
And its beats on my window pane! !
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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The Sailor's Sweetheart
O if love were had for asking,
In the markets of the town,
Hardly a lass would think to wear
A fine silken gown:
But love is had by grieving
By choosing and by leaving,
And there's no one now to ask me
If heavy lies my heart.
O if love were had for a deep wish
In the deadness of the night,
There'd be a truce to longing
Between the dusk and the light:
But love is had for sighing,
For living and for dying,
And there's no one now to ask me
If heavy lies my heart.
O if love were had for taking
Like honey from the hive,
The bees that made the tender stuff
Could hardly keep alive:
But love it is a wounded thing,
A tremor and a smart,
And there's no one left to kiss me now
Over my heavy heart.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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The Fire
I was picking raspberries, my head was in the canes,
And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his pains.
Says he, 'You take it easy! That ain't the way to do!
I love you hot as fire, my girl, and you know you know it too.
So won't you name the day?'
But I said, 'That I will not.'
And I pushed him away,
Out among the raspberries all on a summer day.
And I says, 'You ask in winter, if your love's so hot,
For it's summer now, and sunny, and my hands is full,' says I,
'With the fair by and by,
And the village dance and all;
And the turkey poults is small,
And so's the ducks and chicks,
And the hay not yet in ricks,
And the flower-show'll be presently and hop-picking's to come,
And the fruiting and the harvest home,
And my new white gown to make, and the jam all to be done.
Can't you leave a girl alone?
Your love's too hot for me!
Can't you leave a girl be
Till the evenings do draw in,
Till the leaves be getting thin,
Till the fires be lighted early, and the curtains drawed for tea?
That's the time to do your courting, if you come a-courting me!'
* * *
And he took it as I said it, an' not as it was meant.
And he went.
* * *
The hay was stacked, the fruit was picked, the hops were dry and
brown,
And everything was garnered, and the year turned upside down,
And the winter it come on, and the fires were early lit,
And he'd never come anigh again, and all my life was sick.
And I was cold alone, with nought to do but sit
With my hands in my black lap, and hear the clock tick.
For father, he lay dead
With the candles at his head,
And his coffin was that black I could see it through the wall;
And I'd sent them all away,
Though they'd offered for to stay.
I wanted to be cold alone, and learn to bear it all.
Then I heard him. I'd a-known it for his footstep just as plain
If he'd brought his regiment with him up the rutty frozen lane.
And I hadn't drawed the curtains, and I see him through the pane;
And I jumped up in my blacks and I threw the door back wide.
Says I, 'You come inside;
For it's cold outside for you,
And it's cold here too;
And I haven't no more pride -
It's too cold for that,' I cried.
* * *
Then I saw in his face
The fear of death, and desire.
And oh, I took and kissed him again and again,
And I clipped him close and all,
In the winter, in the dusk, in the quiet house-place,
With the coffin lying black and full the other side the wall;
And 'YOU warm my heart,' I told him, 'if there's any fire in men!'
And he got his two arms round me, and I felt the fire then.
And I warmed my heart at the fire.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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New New York
(chorus)
New, new new, ah, ah-ah ah
New, new new, ah, ah-ah ah
New new york skyline
Wounds they heal in time
Dont crawl and dont despair
Its a new new york today
------
I look across these city streets
My heart is numb, it still beats
Nothing to say
Theres nothing to say
I look across this empty room
My heart is still in bloom
Theres nothing to say
I only can pray
(chorus)
I look across these city streets
My heart is cold it beats
30th of may
Ground zero today
(chorus)
I get down on my knees and pray
For the heroes of the day
And no comfort I can find
For the loved ones left behind
They wont tear us apart x4
No way
New day
New day
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House Of Sand
(words & music by grant - baum - kaye)
Oh you can take a whole lot of sand
And build a castle on the beach
And though you mold it and you plan
Still you got nothing in your reach
One little slip and it tumbles down
One wrong step and it crumbles all around
Like a house without love, thats sure to fall apart
A house of sand is an empty work of art
You can build a tower of clay
But if you ask my advice
Well it is worthless as I say
I got no heart its cold as ice
One little slip and it tumbles down
One wrong step and it crumbles all around
Like a house without love, thats sure to fall apart
A house of sand is an empty work of art
One little slip and it tumbles down
One wrong step and it crumbles all around
Like a house without love, thats sure to fall apart
A house of sand is an empty work of art
A house of sand is an empty work of art
A house of sand is an empty work of art
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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