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3 38%
5 63%
Voters: 8.
Autumns trees last words

A shadow, a season past, the sound of silence rippling waters,
the banks, the scandal, a lapse of love in the face of lust,
you cannot contain the waves and ways that emotion permeates us all.
So when the birds murmur from the boughs,
and the new wave of raindrops stutter "why me" at the moment of impact,
you can hear our song again,
our song is being played.
So why don't you sing?
I can't hear you singing?
Why won't you sing?!

For the brambles and the creepers that watch our destined downfall
begin to interlace, support and crush what little love we never had,
I’m left loving the beauty around me, and compared, I cannot compete.
I guess this moment must be the centre of the storm,
while this jade tornado is dying all around is affected by the calm;
"don’t come out of your safe-houses,
the relapse is merely a ploy to lull you into a sense of security"
And so you remain, you remain in a state of overwhelming contrast to beauty,
not special, not unique, another ochre bough, just another ripple,
just another bank to halt our poetry in motion that never was.

Poetry is fake; every word is a ripple going to waste on the borders of the page,
and the lips of the speaker, and the lobes of the listener.
Every branch is an arm undressed by autumn.
So sing, for this is the last time you'll ever be granted the virtue of chance.
Or I’ll overlook you every time nature skips a beat for me,
like you never did,
just so I can feel as though I am part of something,
like we never were.

August Burns Red

So she said things would never change
From summer's fall to winter and again
We will stop the tide, the transformation
Time will stand still, August always burns red

The gold, the greed we cast aside
Changes colors, it's useless, we deny
What is worth most will never be the same
My love for August always will remain

Remain! and pick apart the soul
Remain! I ask you where you'll go

Remain! And keep this light
Remain! And always wonder, always wonder
Did you do what's right?
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
This was a tough choice. I liked the brevity and rhythm of blue, but it was more a lament for August than a piece about Autumn.

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