Rooted
Ignore me,
If you must.
But twig bearing leaves,
On the branches of the same tree...
Are we.
Perspectively speaking.
And feeding from the same trunk,
Rooted.
You may not expect,
The affects felt...
Are still ours to feel.
Be you filled with animosity.
Or a hostility you choose not to heal!
And the Sun that shines,
To absorb the rain that falls...
Continues to nourish.
Whether you decide to encourage it,
Or not!
Every single dropp of blood that spills...
Does not do so,
At the expense of your vanity!
You are still destined,
To replenish the Earth.
Separated to wallow away in mud,
Or dirt!
You are still destined,
To replenish the Earth.
Even those who believe they are chosen!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
My Mama Did Not Raise No Fools
Why do I daily,
Make it my business...
To seek and hug a tree?
And ignore those who snicker about this,
With a laughter I can hear..
But choose to dismiss their activities?
Well...
A tree is rooted,
To all that I am.
Without trees with leaves,
We wouldn't be able to breathe.
Or...
Be able to roam greedily leeching,
Believing God has gifted us to be...
Selfish just to exist!
Trees,
Are solid and grounded...
To 'this' Earth we stand upon.
If it wasn't for the dirt from Earth,
Nothing grown from it...
Would be eaten or found.
And IF it wasn't for the assistance,
From the Sun or clouds above...
Not a dropp of rain,
That produces drinking water...
Would for any of us be allowed,
To love.
Have you ever witnessed a fish,
Crawl or limp aided with a walking stick...
Upon dry sand?
Or a man, woman or child...
Live without eating out of Mother Nature's hand?
Have you?
LIES!
No you haven't.
Why do I daily,
Make it my business...
To seek and hug a tree?
And ignore those who snicker about this,
With a laughter I can hear..
But choose to dismiss their activities?
I am connected!
That's correct.
And respect that which assists my existence.
With a feeling that is blessed,
To have within my head this perspective.
Cause my mama did not raise no fools!
Although there have been times,
I will admit I have been foolish.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Can You Now Sing
Can you now sing...
Katrina victims.
Treated less than human beings.
And labelled refugees!
For purposes to show how low,
Demons can demean.
You are in my mind.
And from my insight I wont let go.
Don't think God has forgotten.
Your lives have been prioritized.
Know this...
God loves you so!
Those who still can not believe,
We are all inhabitants of one Earth.
All of us born to one day die.
To nourish and replenish this Earth as dirt.
Lessons they have yet to learn...
Concerning what goes around eventually returns.
Now many suffer much worse than you,
Katrina victims.
Your pain endured has come for millions to feel.
And this is just the beginning for them...
To realize God is alive and real!
Can you now sing...
Katrina victims.
Treated less than human beings.
And labelled refugees!
For purposes to show how low,
Demons can demean.
You will!
You will!
You will!
God is alive and real!
And can feel as you do.
You will sing.
You will heal and love.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Webster Ford
Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo,
The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew
Cried, "There's a ghost," and I, "It's Delphic Apollo";
And the son of the banker derided us, saying, "It's light
By the flags at the water's edge, you half-witted fools."
And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after
Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death
Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried
The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls
And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear
Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me?
Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart,
Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour
When I seemed to be turned to a tree with trunk and branches
Growing indurate, turning to stone, yet burgeoning
In laurel leaves, in hosts of lambent laurel,
Quivering, fluttering, shrinking, fighting the numbness
Creeping into their veins from the dying trunk and branches!
'Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo.
Fling yourselves in the fire, die with a song of spring,
If die you must in the spring. For none shall look
On the face of Apollo and live, and choose you must
'Twixt death in the flame and death after years of sorrow,
Rooted fast in the earth, feeling the grisly hand,
Not so much in the trunk as in the terrible numbness
Creeping up to the laurel leaves that never cease
To flourish until you fall. O leaves of me
Too sere for coronal wreaths, and fit alone
For urns of memory, treasured, perhaps, as themes
For hearts heroic, fearless singers and livers --
Delphic Apollo.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Tree Telling of Orpheus
White dawn. Stillness.When the rippling began
&nbs p; I took it for sea-wind, coming to our valley with rumors
&nb sp; of salt, of treeless horizons. But the white fog
didn't stir; the leaves of my brothers remained outstretched,
unmoving.
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp;Yet the rippling drew nearer – and then
my own outermost branches began to tingle, almost as if
fire had been lit below them, too close, and their twig-tips
were drying and curling.
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp; Yet I was not afraid, only
; & nbsp; deeply alert.
I was the first to see him, for I grew
; out on the pasture slope, beyond the forest.
He was a man, it seemed: the two
moving stems, the short trunk, the two
arm-branches, flexible, each with five leafless
& nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp; &nbs p; ; twigs at their ends,
and the head that's crowned by brown or golden grass,
bearing a face not like the beaked face of a bird,
&nbs p; ; more like a flower's.
& nbsp; &n bsp; He carried a burden made of
some cut branch bent while it was green,
strands of a vine tight-stretched across it. From this,
when he touched it, and from his voice
which unlike the wind's voice had no need of our
leaves and branches to complete its sound,
&nb sp; &nbs p; ; & nbsp;came the ripple.
But it was now no longer a ripple (he had come near and
stopped in my first shadow) it was a wave that bathed me
& nbsp; &n bsp; as if rain
; & nbsp; rose from below and around me
& nbsp; &n bsp; instead of falling.
And what I felt was no longer a dry tingling:
& nbsp; I seemed to be singing as he sang, I seemed to know
; what the lark knows; all my sap
& nbsp; &n bsp; was mounting towards the sun that by now
& nbsp; &n bsp; had risen, the mist was rising, the grass
was drying, yet my roots felt music moisten them
deep under earth.
; He came still closer, leaned on my trunk:
&nb sp; &nbs p; the bark thrilled like a leaf still-folded.
Music! There was no twig of me not
& nbsp; &n bsp; trembling with joy and fear.
Then as he sang
it was no longer sounds only that made the music:
he spoke, and as no tree listens I listened, and language
& nbsp; &n bsp; came into my roots
&nbs p; ; out of the earth,
&nb sp; &nbs p; into my bark
; & nbsp; out of the air,
into the pores of my greenest shoots
&nb sp; gently as dew
and there was no word he sang but I knew its meaning.
He told me of journeys,
of where sun and moon go while we stand in dark,
&nbs p; of an earth-journey he dreamed he would take some day
deeper than roots ...
He told of the dreams of man, wars, passions, griefs,
&n bsp; and I, a tree, understood words – ah, it seemed
my thick bark would split like a sapling's that
; & nbsp; grew too fast in the spring
when a late frost wounds it.
&n bsp; &nb sp; &nbs p; ; Fire he sang,
that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames.
New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer.
&n bsp; As though his lyre (now I knew its name)
&nbs p; were both frost and fire, its chords flamed
up to the crown of me.
I was seed again.
&nb sp; &nbs p; I was fern in the swamp.
&nb sp; &nbs p; ; & nbsp;I was coal.
poem by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It Is About The Entire Performance
It is highly unlikely...
But,
Nothing is impossible...
That a leaf,
Connected to a twig or a branch...
Of a rooted tree,
Would not have a clue...
How it is associated with the process,
Of life.
Or...
That it accepts it has nothing to do with it at all.
However...
Attempts to deceive the other leaves,
They too are equally independent.
And can do what they wish...
With this being totally ignored,
By the Earth from which it feeds!
It is unlikely that a leaf would be that selfish.
But...
I BET it gets the point,
When that tree begins to give it signals...
Its leeching days,
Are not permanently attached.
And that leaf has to go!
And the Earth,
In agreement AND with approval given...
Knows WHO runs the show!
It is not about the part the leaf plays in the act.
It is about the entire performance that is important.
AND...
Has only ONE director.
'Some' leaves get this!
However,
Many do not.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Big Storm, The Rain Falls
The rain falls like leaves and snow.
It stutters and mutters
And bounces and flows.
The rain falls like a big black crow,
Flapping and cawing
And thrashing and crashing.
The rain falls like spades of earth
Tossed on the grave of summer mirth.
The rain falls like a magic spell:
Billions of droplets singing their songs.
The rain falls like a lover's kisses,
Wet on the flesh of the trembling earth.
The rain falls like a forest of time,
Shimmering seconds, liquid and cold.
The rain falls like an ancient story,
Trickling on roots, twisted and old.
poem by Norm Milstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
So Thoughtless Are We
Easily God is with us to please.
Caring that our needs are met.
With those dreams wished delivered...
To get and quickly forget,
How to us they came.
Like the rain does not replenish.
Or nourishes to sustain.
Easily God is there to forgive,
Those who maintain a faith.
Although allowing all,
To run into walls and make mistakes.
God understands this!
God knows what is in His or Her power,
To create.
For purposes to celebrate.
Hoping to correct,
Our reasons to hate.
But we seem so unconscious,
Of this miracle of life we have.
So thoughtless are we,
We actually believe...
God is a figment of our fantasies.
We seem so unconscious,
Of Mother Nature and of Earth.
As if 'scientists' made the Moon, Stars and Sun.
And they've proclaimed our lives the center of it.
As if our lives here on Earth...
Are the only ones lived,
In this 'massive' Universe.
Where needs to feed,
Understandings with a thirst.
With some isolated to debate their fates.
Wanting to be,
The only ones who are chosen to be 'first'.
Not only are our minds blinded...
But our eyes deceive,
Just to tease these selfish greeds.
Easily God is with us to please.
Caring that our needs are met.
With those dreams wished delivered...
To get and quickly forget,
How to us they came.
Like the rain does not replenish.
Or nourishes to sustain.
Easily God is there to forgive,
Those who maintain a faith.
But make mistakes.
God understands this!
God knows what is in His or Her power,
To create.
God gives.
And only from us God can take!
So much.
And yet...
Surprise us with much more.
If we accept and appreciate,
Why we are here.
And 'WHO' and 'WHAT' IT is,
Our lives are lived here for!
'Place no other gods before ME!
That's ALL I ask!
How difficult 'is' that task? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: Roots Matter
Look, how the cut branches and leaves get dried!
Sometimes, this happens when the Sun's too hot;
With roots intact, the trunk sprouts from its side;
The tree uprooted sure to death is fraught.
Look, how the trunk has sprouted green again!
The tree has started growing with revenge;
Almost a miracle is done by rain;
But this is how Nature tries to avenge.
Our Body, mind draw nourishment from soul;
Our soul if pure is habitat for God;
If not, the evil spirits take this role;
A sinful soul in Heaven would look odd?
Good roots matter if habits good flourish;
God's grace matters for Man's soul to nourish.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Samuel Gardner
I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Don't Care, You Can't Care
It's dark, dank and dreary
The Wind is cold and uncomforting
But I am just another Raindrop
That lands on your Leaves,
You stand rooted to the ground
Not even the Wind moves you
And the Rain touches you.
As I land on your Leaf,
Trying to retain, to remain there
Just for a second, to be a part of you;
The Wind blows me away 'whoosh'
And I am gone.
But you don't look back,
The Roots tell you 'no' as the
Wind continues to blow...
Lying on the ground, looking
Back up at what could have been
You stand there, alone, the
Wind howling, the Rain falling,
And you don't care,
You can't care. Is it the
Wind or the Rain? Or are you just too vain?
Strangely, stupidly, sadly; I
Give you another chance, I try
To talk to you, but you let the
Wind shake your Leaves, the
Rain fall on you, you watch
those Raindrops slide off you
Each and every one falls to the earth
You don't care, You can't care.
poem by E.D. French
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Almond Tree
This snowy cold December morning
the pen
is full of almond branches, leaves
and black gnarled twigs covered
with white blossoms
the scent of that tree is intoxicating
for here on the real earth,
such trees do not ripen,
nor bear the fruit of that tree.
As children our first movement is to sing joyous songs,
innocent voices, filling mountains and dales with arias.
As adults our first movement is toward joy,
yet we give it away, venting full expression
to a gloomy tho not unfamiliar view of life.
once delighted with the world as children
now the world is in a tangle,
for opened eyes have seen only the glow of fires,
massacres, injustices, humiliations,
and the unrelenting shame
of braggarts and despots.
I look at the pen, it's branches, twigs, leaves
now covered, with cherry blossoms
and breathe in the intoxicating scent of that tree
knowing full well such a tree does not grow in dirt
nor can humanity cut down that tree.
That tree does not desire to save
nations or people
heal the sick,
raise the dead,
connive with politicians,
nor change drunkards and fools
with songs of hope...
The only goal is this, only this
that I see and smell the almond tree,
learn to look with love,
heal this heart,
without knowing from various ills-
for that almond tree says to me: Friend
stand in the glow of ripeness with me
not knowing what purpose served.
Through worm filled tufts
in that sweet garden
that almond tree raises it's eyes
and every blossom
enjoys the air it breathes
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Robbin Tree
The Robin begins to build her nest
in the gnarled tree;
the twigs are twisted;
the branches lack leaves;
and the nest is exposed
offering no shelter.
She puts another twig
into the tree fork;
but it falls to the ground.
She looks away west
and leaves.
Her wings
flapping
out a message:
Nature is abandoning us.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dwindling Supplies
If no one else has made attempts,
To what was perceived was there
And did not replenish it.
No one person alone can restore
That which is gone.
And isn't there anymore.
If it was not prioritized,
With an inventory taken of dwindling supplies
No one should be surprise,
The diminishing of it
Has vanished from all eyes.
No one can have what is not given right back.
That is not the way,
A feeding comes to stay.
No one can have what is not given right back.
That is not the way,
A feeding comes to stay.
If it was not prioritized,
With an inventory taken of dwindling supplies
No one should be surprise,
The diminishing of it
Has vanished from all eyes.
That is not the way,
A feeding comes to stay.
If no one else has made attempts,
To what was perceived was there
And did not replenish it.
No one person alone can restore
That which is gone.
And isn't there anymore.
No one can have what is not given right back.
That is not the way,
A feeding comes to stay.
No one can have what is not given right back.
That is not the way,
A feeding comes to stay.
No one can have what is not given right back.
That is not the way,
A feeding comes to stay.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
They Too Dangle
If you suck the sap from the tree,
To feed your own interests...
Without seeking ways to replenish,
OR preserve what's left...
You sap the life from the tree.
And guess what?
Have you ever observed yourself,
Dangling from a branch?
Connected to it as the leaf you are,
Leeching.
Well...
That branch from which you leech,
Is connected to that tree...
From which you attempt to leave sapless.
And surrounding your unconscious doing,
Are others who are not as thoughtless.
But like you...
They too dangle,
Precariously with similar sefishness.
Until they dropp from that same tree...
Lifeless.
But you,
And those like you...
Wish to speed up that process!
With your frenzied greed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Muse Who Came to Stay
You are the first muse who came to stay.
The others began & ended with a wish,
or a glance or a kiss between stanzas;
the others strode away in the pointed boots of their fear
or were kicked out by the stiletto heels of mine,
or merely padded away in bare feet
when the ground was too hard or cold
or as hot as white sand baked under the noonday sun.
But you flew in on the wings of your smile,
powered by the engine of your cock,
driven by your lonely pumping heart,
rooted by your arteries to mine.
We became a tree with a double apical point,
reaching equally toward what some call heaven,
singing in the wind with our branches,
sharing the sap & syrup
which makes the trunk grow thick.
We are seeding the ground with poems & children.
We are the stuff of books & new-grown forests.
We are renewing the earth with our roots,
the air with our pure oxygen songs,
the nearby seas with leaves we lose
only to grow the greener ones again.
I used to leap from tree to tree,
speaking glibly of Druids,
thinking myself a latter-day dryad,
or a wood nymph from the stony city,
or some other chimerical creature,
conjured in my cheating poet's heart.
But now I stay, knowing the muse is mine,
knowing no books will banish him
& no off-key songs will drive him away.
I being & begin; I whistle in & out of tune.
If the ending is near, I do not think of it.
If the drought comes, we will make our own rain.
If the muse is grounded, I will make him fly,
& if he falls, I will catch him in my arms
until he flies with me again.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Left To Wilt And Languish
It will rain to replenish,
That which needs to be nourished.
It will flood to clear debris,
To rejuvenate an encouragement of growth...
That allows a renewal to begin once again,
To restore a drought of life left to wilt and languish.
And has begun to dull with dust to cover in lament.
It will rain to replenish,
That which needs to be nourished.
It will flood to clear debris,
To rejuvenate an encouragement of growth...
Anguishing.
And...
Left to wilt and languish.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Make-believe
Make-believe
The olive tree had three trunks Siamese triplets?
It was old and gnarled, some of its branches had
no leaves and it was lost in an abstract, cosmic
dream and not aware of its surround; I touched
the perennial and thus gave it soul.
A mild breeze blew, a fluttering of leaves and
the three could see the blue sky where a silvery
bird flew northward glinting in the sun. It could
also see how cute other trees looked, when aware
how ugly it was dawn dew dripped from leaves.
Wished it could be a cosmic dream again and
not know of time and place. But look, its tears
had fertilised the ground and around its trunk
flowers so rare they had still to get a Latin name,
sprung up from red/rusty soil.
They are my creation I have created beauty out
of my distress, the plant whispered as in awe.
My children, must shade them from the hot sun
and bitter winter rain. Vanity be gone, and see,
on its naked branches green leaves grew,
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Destined For Glory
Once upon a time in a forlorn land,
a man on a mission was left at fates hand
In his eyes you could see the whites turn red
Surrounded by evil, abandoned for dead
Born on the run by the sign of the sun
A mail-clad warrior, the chosen one
His name's been cursed, he is bound to fail
A wandering spirit with the will to prevail
By the sign of the moon,
he swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
He still can recall his father's words
"Don't loose your faith, let your voice be heard"
Echoes from the past will lead him on
By these words of honor, shine like the sun
By the sign of the moon
He swore the oath to fight alone
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
The prophecies spoke of a wandering man
Skilled with steel, black as the night
Normally veiled from the mortal eyes
His hammer arose like a magic force
With a gaze that turned everything into stone
the warrior spoke, "I am the one"
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without honor, and you're destined to fall
Fight with your heart, and you're Destined For Glory
But fight without soul and you will loose it all
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!