Towers
By h2whoa
You asked me to come down, From my hail-stone tower, But your voice was butchered By the mourning gale. The King of the Blizzard was staring at me. I thought I had my sword to hand, To defend myself from His Malevolent, firey-snow gaze. What I actually held was my heart, And I realised it was made of wax With the wick burning through. You asked me to come down, And I flew. Written November 27th, 2001 © on Apr 23 2002 03:20 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"You asked me to come down,..."