It may not always be so, and I say That if your lips, which i have loved, should touch Another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch His heart, as mine
Lately I've been wishing I had one desire Something that would make me never want another Something that would make it so that nothing matters All would
Courtesy of blank intuition. This lattice is torn repeatedly frame by frame. by you. And within withering syncopation in time (totality) escaped: me.
And now I concede on the night of this fifteenth song Of melancholy, of melancholy And now I will admit in this fourth line That I love you, that i love
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted Hast thou the master mistress of my passion A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change
(by william shakespeare) Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of may
[lyrics by Mark Briody and Harry Conklin] I see the remnants of our past Were we there? I see no light, no hope, we fall Are we here? We see our
De repente do rio fez-se o pranto Silencioso e branco como a bruma E das bocas unidas fez-se a espuma E das maos espalmadas fez-se o espanto De repente
De repente do rio fez-se o pranto Silencioso e branco como a bruma E das bocas unidas fez-se a espuma E das mos espalmadas fez-se o espanto De repente
My friend and me Looking through her red box of memories Faded I'm sure But love seems to stick in her veins you know Yes, there's love if you want it
It may not always be so, and I say And if your lips which I have loved should touch another's And your dear strong fingers clutch her heart As mine in
Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly
What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight! Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail