Dewgonair

The Butterfly To start from the bottom in god only knows To grow from what was left to decompose They judge only pastels be in my wake Ignoring the truth that makes them quake Locked in a world of my own creation, To bring me to revelation Within myself lay all my answers If only, doubt ceases being my cancers Many see those the path of 1, 2 and 3 Some even see it as being free Following in only what the instinct shows Even if mountains stopped years ago. It is true without our history we are lost. The question echos, at what cost? A harsher truth would be if we remain, Stagnant to be reliving in vain. So should you ask that wandering bu

The Butterfly To start from the bottom in god only knows To grow from what was left to decompose They judge only pastels be in my wake Ignoring the truth that makes them quake Locked in a world of my own creation, To bring me to revelation Within myself lay all my answers If only, doubt ceases being my cancers Many see those the path of 1, 2 and 3 Some even see it as being free Following in only what the instinct shows Even if mountains stopped years ago. It is true without our history we are lost. The question echos, at what cost? A harsher truth would be if we remain, Stagnant to be reliving in vain. So should you ask that wandering bu