— William Shakespeare

If music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it, that,

surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die.

That strain again! it had a dying fall.

O, it came o’er my ear

like the sweet sound,

that breathes upon a bank of violets,

stealing and giving odour!

Enough, no more.

Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

AgO spirit of love!

How quick and fresh art thou,

that, not with standing

thy capacity receiveth as the sea,

nought enters there,

of what validity and pitch soe’er,

but falls into abatement and low price,

even in a minute.

So full of shapes is fancy

that it alone is high fantastical.

He sullied every page

Embraced the toughest pain

But when it comes today

Explanation’s in vain

Just let it be

Keep yourself asleep

You always longed to leave

Cuz it’s not your way to live

Sing a lullaby

Slowly close your eyes

You couldn’t help but cry

Thinking somewhere you can’t arrive

He will have mildly healed

Till star light touches the sill

Like he’s sharing with you

His unyielding will

He stopped the pointless woe

Thought he would know

Where his dreams crumble

Now grows a layer of mould

By admin


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