Ostensibly, it all feels like; "I've known voices of the wind and maybe all it's journeys, it's melodies of melancholy that ears may never hear blowing passed blooming faces of those who only feel it's soothe but not the inconsolable sobs it carries on from faces of those who can't even remember how and when they last smiled, those to whom happiness is just a dream." I've got great feelings, of acquaintance with every falling droplet of rain, vehemently hiting the ground splitting into thousands of other splashes of driblets and all the autumn leaves floating on waves of headwinds I feel every single pain in their voices on their journeys set for demise I find my self reciting rythimic surahs into melodic euological verses, for the friends gone too soon. With no moon, I'm stuck in my own realm nary a wanning crescent with a bunch of wistful emotions cracking tales down told by burning flames whispe...
