We lost all the flowers, but deep inside... our roots still have the power, Our hope of warning beam seems to be done, in this life peace isn't real it's just feel of fun, like the darkness listened for the sun, clear as morning's gold, it screams with Melody unfold.
We may fall into the ground and the wind is scattering us here and there, denying our existence, but as long as there is a root there is a hope and as quiet as night there is a voice of light.. As long as there is hope there is reason to go on... Hope speaks but it's often a 'whisper', so, we must listen or be drown out by the longings that must remain dreams..
