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ThievesKeep your words to yourself, keep them deep down inside
Give your emotions a home and a place they can hide
For no one can know how you feel
Because if they did they would certainly steal
Your kindness and passion are but toys to these thieves
this is why we must wear our hearts on our sleeves
Because if they find them, exploit them they will
And if the thieves got them it would most certainly kill
Your heart and your mind will no longer live
Because with them gone there is nothing to give
Except for your body which will lie in its grave
Because of the life you so willingly gave
Belated BurdenHello stranger,
where have you been;
I missed you when you went
and kissed the starry skies
How are you?
Its been awhile,
since we last talked
Where have all our words gone?
I see you now,
as who I never knew before
You were such a saint,
when we were sharing hands
My dear friend,
why is time so cruel?
We used to be so close
Now you're concealed beneath my feet
The cold and newly churned gravel
doesn't serve its purpose,
in keeping me from clutching on
to how you and I used to be
Late friend of mine,
why did you unexpectedly have to go
and desert those around you?
You'll take away our smiles
This is what happensThis is what happens when you said that you would never love me.
This is what happens when you said you loved me but it was never true
This is what happens when you leave me for her.
This is what happens when you brag about her to everyone.
This is what happens when you said you always wanted to kiss me but never did
This is what happens when you said that i was a jerk.
This is what happens when I actually believed you.
This is what happens when you said everything, I die and you live your life like you never knew me.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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