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I walk down the corridors, so familliar, and yet so strange.
My eyesight is better now, but not in that way.
I can understand.
There is the place i was jeered.
They are crying for me now, giving flowers.
My parents havn't grasped it yet. The blow will come soon.
This is my favourite room, with the aged piano and creeky seat.
We tried and failed to bring awareness to a charity here.
I wonder why I am here, because even though I enjoyed it here, It fills me with saddness.
- by CaffinatedBiroPen |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 04/16/2010 |
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- Title: The Last Place
- Artist: CaffinatedBiroPen
- Description: I think there is a lot of speculation of what happens after we die, but we can't say it out loud for fear of being morbid. This is my idea.
- Date: 04/16/2010
- Tags: last place
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