Burning them in the dark
Where the lovesick lie
What if we don't?
The lonely fault was mine
Buried under a meaningless guise
Can you catch before the fall?
And if you don't?
Would our secrets remain secrets?
Are you the kind to fall?
Or the ones to jump off?
Writhing in temporary bliss
And we revel in the ephemera
I can't keep seeing the memories
The candles float upon the water
But the light hardly shines
I can't see you
Yet the melodies reach me
I'm blinded by the shroud
I can feel your hand
But where's the warmth?
And you who slip through
A quiet dream
And yet she went quietly
But I still see all of our ghosts
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)