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It seems no one can help me now
I'm in too deep
There's no way out
This time I have really lead myself astray
Runaway train never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there
Can you help me remember how to smile?
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded?
Life's mysteries seem so faded
I can go where no one else can go
I know what no one else knows
Here I am, just drowning in the rain
With a ticket for a runaway train




 
'Green Rain' by Mary Webb

Into the scented woods we'll go
And see the blackthorn swim in snow.
High above, in the budding leaves,
A brooding dove awakes and grieves;
The glades with mingled music stir,
And wildly laughs the woodpecker.
When blackthorn petals pearl the breeze,
There are the twisted hawthorn trees
Thick-set with buds, as clear and pale
As golden water or green hail--
As if a storm of rain had stood
Enchanted in the thorny wood,
And, hearing fairy voices call,
Hung poised, forgetting how to fall.​

'To A Blackbird Singing In London' by Mary Webb

Sing on, dear bird! Bring the old rapturous pain,
In this great town, where I no welcome find.
Show me the murmuring forest in your mind,
And April's fragile cups, brimful of rain.
O sing me far away, that I may hear
The voice of grass, and, weeping, may be blind
To slights and lies and friends that prove unkind.
Sing till my soul dissolves into a tear,
Glimmering within a chaliced daffodil.
So, when the stately sun with burning breath
Absorbs my being, I'll dream that he is Death,
Great Death, the undisdainful. By his will
No more unlovely, haunting all things fair,
I'll seek some kinder life in the golden air.​
 
As the world crashes down, heaven's looking better everyday
As the sun burns the ground, there's gotta be another way
Is our God looking down, and does he feel everybody's pain
As the world crashes down, Heaven's looking better everyday







 

 
Desolate man, parted from the world
"Nobody sees me, and I'm not even a nobody..."
But in his mind, in his thoughts, he is sure
That this is not how he is meant to be
He wanders the streets, with a near empty bottle of wind in his hand
He is cold from the rain and wind
The last red sip keeps him warm
"I am on my own, with no direction of home...
A complete unknown..."
That very night he had an eerie dream,
That would tell that things are not what it seems







 

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