War ChildThis shattered photograph, it may not be, Is that my mother? Is that me I see? But wheres my father? Where is he? Put the glass in the frame, A family supposed to be.War Child
This old rag, Used to be new, Made from wool,
My mother sew, Kept me warm, When I had the flew. Now its black,
And I'm so blue.
Is that my bed? Which kept me warm, A place to stay, The place where I was born. I used to hide, When there was a storm. I've got no bed now, Now I'm poor.
A book fillled with days,
reflection
Devious Journal Entry
Neutral
--
Two incomes,
but more divorce
Fancier houses,
but broken homes...
--
Come here, please hold my hand for now.Help me, I'm scared please show me how, to fight this, God has a master plan and I guess, I am in his demand.
I Love you, I'm just Too Afraid Of Telling You.
~XxNothing Else MattersxX~
--
Hakuna Matata promoter
--
Two incomes,
but more divorce
Fancier houses,
but broken homes...
--
"Sometimes the best solution to a problem is grabbing it by the throat and giving a hard twist."
--
Two incomes,
but more divorce
Fancier houses,
but broken homes...
--
AdaMarcu.Sand.is.overrated.it's.just.tiny.little.rocks.
--
Two incomes,
but more divorce
Fancier houses,
but broken homes...
Thank you!
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