Musica, - chiave d'argento che apri le fontane delle lacrime, ove lo spirito beve finchè la mente si smarrisce; soavissima tomba di mille timori, ove la loro madre, l'Inquietudine, simile a un fanciullo che dorma, giece sopita nei fiori... (P. B. Shelley)



Grey skies clouding up the things we used to see with wide eyes...
...I found telling you the truth the hardest thing to get out..
...I don't know if I would stay...
...Will leave you so empty inside
so you shouldn't even try
I know every last regret inside of me is my own
The way I hold them close has made me be this way
I will never change...
...But I'm better off alone

(Grey - Yellowcard)

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