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Literature Text
I sit alone and wonder why we live we die.
What is the meaning of this life.
Is it to love.
Or to be loved.
To give not take.
To mend not brake.
To stand beside the promise’s
We make.
I hope that when I get to where im goin
That I wont be alone.
That there will be someone there
To walk me home.
How do we know when we have done it
All.
Is that when our fate they call?
Sitting here I’ve come to see that
This isn’t about just me.
We all feel this way some where in side
We all have someone
Who has died.
We all know every tear that we have cried.
I only hope that in the end it is justified.
What is the meaning of this life.
Is it to love.
Or to be loved.
To give not take.
To mend not brake.
To stand beside the promise’s
We make.
I hope that when I get to where im goin
That I wont be alone.
That there will be someone there
To walk me home.
How do we know when we have done it
All.
Is that when our fate they call?
Sitting here I’ve come to see that
This isn’t about just me.
We all feel this way some where in side
We all have someone
Who has died.
We all know every tear that we have cried.
I only hope that in the end it is justified.
was sitting here one night
and just thouht about many things and the only thing i could come to in the end was
Why?....
and just thouht about many things and the only thing i could come to in the end was
Why?....
© 2004 - 2024 LastPoet
Comments6
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things were made to be broken
so are promises
so are promises