Thursday, March 31, 2005
Over the years a wall has been built, oh so high made of rock.
I have become weary of my pain and loneliness.
What if I climbed over the wall to you?
What if I busted through to you?
What if I dug underneath, only to be with you?
If I remain on this side, where the sun rarely shines, I believe I will wither and die.
I have become weary of my pain and loneliness.
What if I climbed over the wall to you?
What if I busted through to you?
What if I dug underneath, only to be with you?
If I remain on this side, where the sun rarely shines, I believe I will wither and die.
