This dusted pad in which i wrote
i see the momories, of faded quotes
it brings back pains, joys and sorrows
with dreams of now, and no tomorrows
And along side of the beat up notes
i see a symbol, an old dried up rose
memories in chain reaction, this trash has triggered
of a broken heart and of who i loath
an intence fire that grows inside
an immence hatred that i cant hide
but of who, i ask in whisper
non other than the one i hither
but besides the pain that these objects bring forth
and the sad memories that consume all my joy
what remember the most, is that smile i adore
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