The past makes the present all so sweet;
As love hinged on lingering pain. The shadows are sill-as the sun contemplates tomorrow. Will you resent your thoughts of me? In time before the sun rises, or will tomorrow never come.
As love hinged on lingering pain. The shadows are sill-as the sun contemplates tomorrow. Will you resent your thoughts of me? In time before the sun rises, or will tomorrow never come.
--Ruben L., 62
