A Silent Sonnet on a Mid Day Afternoon by Silent fingers
With the sun dancing in her heart-colored hair, a dream flowing in her honey-tinted eyes and a turquoise-hued gem prostrating her ears – she sits in her garden with sleeping white angels and smiling wise gnomes, a calm and numinous place where every bird has a song to sing, where every flower has a life to live, and every wall a story to tell.
Oh, I have never felt a feeling more blessed than her mystical presence.
For a while my breath stood still, and with me, the breeze too. Yes, we stood face to face, while time played a silent sonnet on a mid day afternoon.
With a sugary spell she had cast over her light-filled shadow, she lets her henna-dyed feet float among perfumed pink ‘kaneerumaa’ praising the round yellow one, among marred pieces of colored glass resurrected as bright jovial mirrors, among dangling little dream catchers humming sweet soft lullabies and painted vivid hand-prints gently pressing onto white rugged walls.
Oh, I have never heard a poem more eloquent than her whimsical world.
For a while I stood still, and with me, the world too. Yes, there I stood, face to face with her, while fate played a silent sonnet on a mid day afternoon.
With the marriage of a fiyaathoshi wall to a nookula door, she paints her castle yellow, sometimes violet, and sometimes white. With a flucid stroke of her magic-bound hand she creates cyan-colored beings and olive-colored poetry. Words fly out of her mouth like freed birds, while she swings her soul to-and-fro, and commands the sunny-rays-gone-astray to obey and kneel at her feet, to kiss her hands, caress her cheeks and rest in her eyes.
Oh, I have never seen a queen more refined in her placid manners.
For a while my heart stood still, and with it, my life too. Yes, There I stood face to face with her, while life played a silent sonnet on a mid day afternoon.
… and then she asks, “Have we met before? ”
… and I thought, “Yes, perhaps eight hundred years ago! ”
poem by Silent Fingers
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In The Dusky Path Of A Dream
IN the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.
Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, 'Are you well, my friend?'
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Reuben & Cherise
Cherise was brushing her long hair gently down
It was the afternoon of carnival as she brushes it gently down
Rubin was strumming his painted mandolin
It was inlaid with a pretty face in jade played in the carnival parade
Cherise was dressing as Pirouette in white
When a fatal vision gripped her tight Cherise beware tonight
Rubin, Rubin tell me truly true
I feel afraid and I don't know why I do, Is there another girl for you?
If you could see my heart you would know it's true
There's none Cherise, except for you, except for you
I'd swear to it on my very soul, If I lie, say I fall down cold
When Rubin played on his painted mandolin
The breeze would pause to listen in before going on its way again
Masquerade began when nightfall finally woke
Like waves against the bandstand, dancers broke to the painted mandolin
Looking out to the crowd who is standing there
Sweet Ruby Claire at Rubin stared, at Rubin stared
She was dressed as Pirouette in red
And her hair hung gently down
The crowd pressed round, Ruby stood as though alone
Rubin's song took on a different tone and he played it just for her
The song he played was the carnival parade
Each note cut a thread of Cherise's fate it cut through like a blade
Rubin was playing his painted mandolin
When Ruby froze and turned to stone for the strings played all alone
The voice of Cherise from the face of the mandolin
Singing Rubin, Rubin tell me true for I have no one but you
If you could see my heart you would know it true
There's none Cherise, except for you, except for you
I'd swear to it on my very soul, If I lie, say I fall down cold
The truth of love an unsung song must tell
The course of love must follow blind without a look behind
Rubin walked the streets of New Orleans till dawn
Cherise so lightly in his arms and her hair hung gently down
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ellen Terry in the Merchant of Venice
As there she lives and moves upon the scene,
So lived and moved this radiant womanhood
In Shakespeare's vision; in such wise she stood
Smiling upon Bassanio; such her mien
When pity dimmed her eyelids' golden sheen,
Hearing Antonio's story, and the blood
Paled on her cheek, and all her lightsome mood
Was gone. This shape in Shakespeare's thought has been!
Thus dreamt he of her in gray London town;
Such were her eyes; on such gold-colored hair
The grave young judge's velvet cap was set;
So stood she lovely in her crimson gown.
Mine were a happy cast, could I but snare
Her beauty in a sonnet's fragile net.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)
I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Across the Road
To cross or not to cross
was all I thought
when I saw her face across the road.
Her eyes was set as though she lost her soul,
so lost like she is never in this world.
She never minded her shadow on the ground...
her watch as if to melt under her stare,
tic tacked not faster than her heartbeat
for she thought her head was on her feet-
At last, she looked my way
and her pretty face paled.
Suddenly she stood still as though
she gasped some air from death to life...
I can't escape her stare.
To cross or not to cross, I never thought
when across the road she merely stood
nearly meeting her shadow on the ground.
I closed my eyes- I heard the sound
of her crying heart, I found
myself walking away with the woman on my side.
It pained to see her that way cry...
just because I couldn't cross the road for her.
It pained to watch her die.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Paper Thin Motel
The walls of this hotel are paper-thin
Last night I heard you making love to him
The struggle mouth to mouth and limb to limb
The grunt of unity when he came in
I stood there with my ear against the wall
I was not seized by jealousy at all
In fact a burden lifted from my soul
I heard that love was out of my control
A heavy burden lifted from my soul
I heard that love was out of my control
I listened to your kisses at the door
I never heard the world so clear before
You ran your bath and you began to sing
I felt so good I couldnt feel a thing
I stood there with my ear against the wall ...
And I cant wait to tell you to your face
And I cant wait for you to take my place
You are the naked angel in my heart
You are the woman with her legs apart
Its written on the walls of this hotel
You go to heaven once youve been to hell
A heavy burden lifted from my soul
I heard that love was out of my control
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Family Of People
i took the multi-colored hand
that pulled me up out of the ditch,
reaching back to grab another's hand,
and do the same for him.
i walked the streets with those
who came from other places....
i took the time to listen
to their stories and their needs.
i stood with them in lines,
in the face of the furor....
i looked into the eyes
of their children, felt their heartbeats....
and i knew in my own heart
there's no real difference there....
people and their families
just trying to survive....
the family of people,
all desiring to be human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blossom of Life
SO now she lies silent and sweet
With white flowers at her head and feet,
And she, the fairest flower, between.
The bud that with her bosom's swell
In dear delight once rose and fell
Now wafts her all it has to tell,
And wonders why she sleeps serene.
And yet in life how small a part,
With pretty face and petty heart,
She played! And in that form so fair
There never dwelt a deep desire,
Her bosom never thrilled a-fire:
She loved too lightly e'en to tire—
And all my heart was meant for her.
Was there a soul within those eyes
That seemed to speak my dear surmise,
That with no tears were ever wet?
Through life she laughed her careless way,
She knew not sorrow or dismay—
And I have sorrowed day by day,
While those pale lips are smiling yet!
And so she lies on her small bed,
With white flowers at her feet and head,
And she, the fairest flower between!
In life how false the little rôle —
The peerless face, the paltry soul!
But she is perfect now—the whole
Pale blossom of the Might-Have-Been.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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In The Swimming Pool In The Park
Your sister called her
the girl in the red beret
and there she was
in the outdoor
swimming pool
in the park
her gran sitting
in the stands knitting
and Janice saw you
and said
Fancy seeing you here
can you swim?
You stood
in the shallow end
of the pool
in your blue trunks
looking at her wet fair hair
clinging to her body
and her eyes bright
in the sun's afternoon light
No not so far
you replied
I can
she said shaking water
from her hair and head
I can swim the length
and back almost
you looked over
at Jimmy in the pool
talking to friends
she touched your hand
and said
I can show you
how to swim
and she smiled
and you felt her hand
on yours and hoped
Jimmy wasn't looking
seeing her touch you
Maybe another time
you said
pulling your hand away
and plunging it
into the water
I've got to go
you said
my friends
are waiting for me
and she looked at you
her eyes now sad
and she said softly
No stay with me
I like it
when you are near me
and she stood there
in her pink swimsuit
her hair sticking
to her face
her eyes watery and blue
and gazing hopefully
(the noise and laughter
from the pool
momentarily shut off)
at seven year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face
In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
And the menace of their wrath.
"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
"Revenue upon all the race
Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re-echoed the cry
Of his anger and despair.
In the meadow, spreading wide
By woodland and riverside
The Indian village stood;
All was silent as a dream,
Save the rushing a of the stream
And the blue-jay in the wood.
In his war paint and his beads,
Like a bison among the reeds,
In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves,
Savage, unmerciful!
Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong, sword in hand;
But of that gallant band
Not one returned again.
The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
And smoke of a furnace fire:
By the river's bank, and between
The rocks of the ravine,
They lay in their bloody attire.
But the foemen fled in the night,
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight
Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy, bore
The brave heart, that beat no more,
Of the White Chief with yellow hair.
Whose was the right and the wrong?
Sing it, O funeral song,
With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
In the Year of a Hundred Years.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Cold Hands From New York
I came down from albany to new york to find what Id been missin
I looked across the river to the city where the windows all stood glistenin
I stood listenin
Into a tunnel I did rise, like a grave inside, but I was young and able
When I came out the other end, ah through the smoke the winter light was feeble
Unreadable
I was optimistic though, a cabbie told me where to go
I thanked him
A face of white a face of brown, here a smile, there a look of danger
For a stranger
It was too unreal for me
I found no one who trusted me
There was no man could offer me
A cold hand from new york
Cold hands from new york
A voice within you cries wont someone please help me
Ill do the same for you one day
If you should ever pass my way and need me
I came down to live alone in new york the city of the living
There were fortunes at my feet but most of men were taking, none we giving
Or forgiving
Children ran and children played and roses grew in alleyways
I saw them
There were men who lived in style and others who had died where no one knew them
cause they couldnt win
There were parks where old men slept and dingy rooms where babies crept unwanted
Till I began to ask myself if there was hope or if it mattered what the did
Or if they lived
It was too unreal for me
I found no one who trusted me
There was no man could offer me
A cold hand from new york
Cold hands from new york
A voice within you cries wont someone please help me
Ill do the same for you one day
If you should ever pass my way and need me
I came down from albany to new york to find what Id been missin
I looked across the river to the city where the windows all stood glistenin
I stood listenin
There were prophets in the squares and people there who smiled and said forget it
There were lovers in the park and there was danger in the dark, I felt it
So afraid of it
There were preachers of the word and poets who were never heard
I heard them
There were those who would not try to learn the measure of the lie
Theyre livin
I heard a young musician play in a place where they paid you not to listen
I heard a woman scream for help while men stood by and offered their best wishes
Thats how it is
It was too unreal for me
I found no one who trusted me
There was no man could offer me
A cold hand from new york
Cold hands from new york
A voice within you cries wont someone please help me
Ill do the same for you one day
If you should ever pass my way and need me
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Collins Street
I stood in the heart of the city street,
I felt the throb of her pulses beat,
The thunder of life on the sunny air,
The waves of the people everywhere,
Like the stirring lilt of a mighty song
Ran the fever of life in the moving throng,
With the hope and joy and the want and woe
Of a million souls in its ebb and flow.
Like a floating straw in an eddy caught
My soul was whirled in the city’s thought—
The purse-born pride and the scheming brain,
The grinding need and the grasping gain;
The silent strength that is born to rule,
And the shallow laugh of the feckless fool,
The fresh young face where no shadow lies,
And the quenchless pain in the harlot’s eyes.
I stood in the heart of the city street,
And I heard not the tread of the passing feet,
For the days were grey and the nights were long,
And my soul was vexed with a wild sad song,
And the world like a stream flowed thro’ my brain,
And I saw her lands in a dream of pain,
And her power enthroned on the people’s needs,
And her heroes dead for a hundred creeds.
And I saw thro’ the pageant moving on
The same dark horrors of ages gone,
The dumb despair and the dire distress,
And man still mad in his littleness.
Who cares tho’ Earth be a masterpiece,
If pain and sorrow shall never cease?
Does God endure in His vaulted skies
The hopeless pain in His creatures’ eyes?
Then I saw, like a glory shining thro’,
What man had conquered and yet shall do.
I saw the depths where he lay of old,
And the heights of a splendour yet untold.
And I knew, in a flash, since the world began
What man had suffered and done for man,
And I felt like a note that is borne along
On the upward swell of a battle song.
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Drummer Boy
A drummer boy dressed in white tapped his drum as he passed by my bed,
he never looked at me, and not a word was said.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, was his marching beat.
There was blood from a wound, but he kept to his feet.
As he marched back and forth it looked as though he was going to fall,
but he continued to beat his drum, as he walked through the wall.
On his departure the sound of a bugle was heard above the drum,
whistling rifle shots and cannon fire added to the battle’s hum.
A boy dressed in red and white, blowing a bugle marched passed my bed,
he had suffered a wound, and blood was flowing from his head.
Blowing with all his might I could see the determination on his face,
he seemed to be running out of breath, as he slowly lost the pace.
The drummer boy came up beside him and marched by his side,
the bugle boy stood up straight, and blew the charge as he cried.
Another drummer boy passed my bed followed by two more,
the bugle boy stood and looked ahead, and then fell to the floor.
Several soldiers charged pass, with bayonets fixed for attack,
passing the drummer boy one yelled, “Keep playing and don’t look back.”
With the sound of bullets in the air and shells exploding all around
soldiers charged and fell by my bed to the now distant drumming sound.
It suddenly all went quiet as everyone disappeared through the wall,
except for the drummer boy who played as he stood tall.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum; a much softer beat,
he then looked at me with tears in his eyes, as he faded at my feet.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lourdes 2006
Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there's molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I've got
a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you
went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said
Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed
and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until
they were clean and smelt of soap and fresh air
and all the while 94 year old Jim sat in a chair
watching with his eyes watery and jaw hung loose
seeing the black water run down the wide plughole
and once it was done you wrung the clothes out
like your mother used to do when you were a kid
and hung them out on the balcony on the small
clothesline and placed the washed out black shoes
by the outside wall to dry out in the hot afternoon
sun and Jimmy came over and stood on the balcony
with one hand on the rail and the other on his stick
looking over at the Pyrenees in the distance and he
said That was real good of you. I owe you big time
and you stood next to him feeling the hot afternoon
sun on your face and arms and felt good and you
said You owe me nothing Jim I just did what some
good guy would and his watery eyes swept over you
matching the French sky's watery afternoon blue.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Temple of Friendship
IN the depths of the silent wood the temple of Friendship stood,
Like a dream of snow-white stone, or a vestal all alone,
Undraped beside a stream.
The pious from every clime came there to rest for a time,
With incense and gifts and prayer; and the stainless marble stair
Was worn by fervent knees.
And everywhere the fame of the beautiful temple came,
With its altar white and pure, and its worship to allure
From gods that bring unrest.
The goddess was there to assuage (for this was the Golden Age)
The trials of all who staid and trustingly tried and prayed
For the perfect grace.
Soldier and clerk and dame in couples and companies came;
There were few who rode alone, for none feared the other one,
So placid and safe the creed.
There came from afar one day, with a suite in rich array,
A lady of beauty rare, who bent to the plaintive air
A handsome minstrel sung.
Her face was as calm and cold as the stamp of a queen on gold,
And the song the poet sung to a restful theme was strung,
A tranquil air of peace.
But, as they happily rode to the holy and white abode,
They were watched from a cloud above by the mischievous god of Love,
Who envied Friendship's reign.
They dreamt not of danger near, and their hearts felt no shade of fear,
As they laid their rich offerings of flowers and precious things
At Friendship's lovely feet.
They lingered long near the shrine, in the air of its peace divine;
By the shadowed stream they strayed, where often the heavenly maid
Would smile upon their rest.
One day, with her white robe flown, she passed like a dream alone,
Where they sat in a converse sweet, with the silver stream at their feet
As still and as wise as they.
To the innermost temple's room, to the couch, and the sacred loom
Where she weaves her placid will, the goddess came, smiling still,
Unrobing for blissful rest.
O lily of perfect mold, the world had grown young, not old,
Had it bowed at thy milk-white feet with a love not of fire, but heat,—
Sweet lotus of soft repose!
Like the moon her body glows, like the sun-flushed Alpine snows;
Her arms 'neath her radiant head, she sleeps, and lo! o'er her bed
The wicked Cupid leans.
Even he cannot fly the feast which nor vestal nor hoary priest
Had ever enjoyed before. But, stealing her robe from the floor,
He dons it and is gone.
By the stream, in the silent shade, he walks where the two have made
Their resting-place for the noon: ''Tis Friendship!' they cry; and soon
Love's guile on their hearts is laid.
'O, the goddess is good!' she said, as she bent her golden head
And looked in the minstrel's face. 'She stands by our resting-place
And blesses our peaceful love!'
As she spoke, a flame shot through her breast, and her eyes of blue
Grew moist with a subtle bliss. 'Sweet friend!' she cried, and her kiss
Clung soft on the poet's lips.
'Ah, me!' he sighed, 'if they knew, those feverish lovers who woo
For the passion of tears and blood, how soothing and pure and good
Is a friendly kiss—like this!'
'O, list! ' she cried, ' 'tis a dove; he calls for his absent love;
They will sit all day and coo calm friendship, like mine for you,—
Dear friend, like mine for you.'
Their hands were joined, and a thrill of desire and passionate will
Brought his eyes her eyes above in a marvelous look of love,
And Cupid smiled and drew near.
'O sweetest!' she whispered softly. 'See! the goddess is leaning over me,
And smiling with eyes like yours! O Goddess! thy presence cures
The restful unrest of friends!'
And Cupid laughed in her eyes as he threw off the white disguise
And bent down to kiss her himself—but cuff! cuff! on the ears of the elf
From the goddess who sought her robe.
And the river flowed on through the wood, and the temple of Friendship stood
Like a dream of snow-white stone. But the minstrel returned alone
From his pilgrimage.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I wish every teacher to be like him
It was a
pleasent surprise
My old teacher
Stood in front of me
Hairs white
Wrinkles on the face
But light in the eyes
Still very bright
I bowed and touched his feet
He blessed me with a big smile
Memories took me to
Few years back
I was an orphan
He taught and took care of me
Treated me the best one could
Always smiled
And used tell me
Live with humility,
Help the needy
Never hurt anybody
Put your heart and soul
In whatever you do
I kept his lessons in my mind
Started following them in my life
I got everything I needed
More than I had ever wished
People call me
A successful man
Rolling in money
Liked by every body
I am what I am
All because of him
I wish every teacher
To be like him
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Hate Your Face
I was with you in venusian times
With sea colored angels
White stallions and goblets of wine
It was always you
We watched the ice melt down
We danced in victorian towns
The plains can change but the face remains
I feel you
I see you
Everywhere I look
Chorus:
I hate your face
cause I love your face
You know I cant explain
The way it wracks my brain
You know it makes me cry
We never said good bye
I hate your face
cause I love your face
Ive been looking for you all of this life
Through six-sided windows
Like a vacant room in a crowded mind
Were children born of the sea
Tangled eternally
Oh, I need to touch you
And feel you
I see you
Everywhere I look
(chorus)
Dont do it...youre following my heart
You knew it...youre following my soul...
And I think theres a connection
(chorus)
I never did want to love you
I thought I was over you
I hate your face
cause I love your face
song performed by by Wilsons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Hate Your Face
I was with you in venusian times
With sea colored angels
White stallions and goblets of wine
It was always you
We watched the ice melt down
We danced in victorian towns
The plains can change but the face remains
I feel you
I see you
Everywhere I look
Chorus:
I hate your face
cause I love your face
You know I cant explain
The way it wracks my brain
You know it makes me cry
We never said good bye
I hate your face
cause I love your face
Ive been looking for you all of this life
Through six-sided windows
Like a vacant room in a crowded mind
Were children born of the sea
Tangled eternally
Oh, I need to touch you
And feel you
I see you
Everywhere I look
(chorus)
Dont do it...youre following my heart
You knew it...youre following my soul...
And I think theres a connection
(chorus)
I never did want to love you
I thought I was over you
I hate your face
cause I love your face
song performed by by Wilsons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!