Musetta Some Toughts Are Hard To Die
Sunday morning,
saw you hanging by a thread,
spinned with a magic ply.
Eerie weather,
who's not able to complete,
led us to pass you by.
Missing streams
clashes through the ocean,
takes time to unify.
In your daydreams,
butterflies in light blue sky,
Caught in a lullaby,
Seems like a dream,
more a nightmare than a dream,
whispering another sigh.
We got over
this misunderstanding