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she was standing outside the Art museum
a peace sign hanging down her collar
deciding whether to keep on dreaming
about the people or go in to see them
She was tired of flesh and blood sculptures
and wanted to roam around those of marble
Shed fallen in love with their honest coldness
having had enough of lying warmth
one day my heart will turn to cold marble stone
and my eyes will grow blank and no longer be my own
She climbed up the stairs and slowly started to tread
into the footsteps of the ancients
The pale people she was visiting seemed to whisper hello
most were silent but some would bellow
just as she was used to
She told them stories and they told her their tales
and some of them spoke in riddles
And when the ticking clock yelled out its time
She knew it was time to leave now,
but shed be back in a while
one day my heart will turn to cold marble stone
and my eyes will grow blank and no longer be my own
My skin will lose its meaning and feeling
and my life will lose its feeling and meaning
One day...
One day...
One day...
Ill truly be
Ill truly be happy
Back at school she wandered the hallways
with no one to tell secrets to
And though most of them told her their say
None of these statues tales were ever new
she saved a small ration of smiles by her bed
which she broke out on days like these
She longed to be back among her friends
and walk once more with the ancients
One day
the hands that hold me will care
One day
my smile will actually be there
one day
Ill truly be happy
Ill truly be happy
One day
my head will fall off
one day
my arms will flee me
one day
Ill truly be happy
Ill truly be happy
One day
one day my heart will turn to cold marble stone
and my eyes will grow blank and no longer be my own
My skin will lose its meaning and feeling
and my life will lose its feeling and meaning
It will be no different than now to see me
except admission will no longer be free
- by MasterEverwaking |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 02/24/2009 |
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- Title: Galatea
- Artist: MasterEverwaking
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Description:
She dreams in marble.
She dreams in gold.
There are bunches of living breathing statues/works of art among us. - Date: 02/24/2009
- Tags: galatea
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