vwen

We're not that different I guess some things are meant to be broken You see, this isn't quite the perfect environment They give you a series of rules, And if you don't follow, You're not good enough, You're way too slow But what they don't know What we all do, is the same old, Routine that they do 'S just that we don't follow The same rules that they do But every step we take is greater than the last, Keep counting, Clock's ticking, We're better than who we were in the past It seems like Everybody's missing the point we're tryin' to say here You're no better than the old man, sitting beside a trash can Don't you know, we're of the same kind Different faces, but we're not blind To see we're not that different We're not that different We're not that different ~~ "When we start to classify/define things, more often than not, we compromise its greatness. And we fail to truly un

Honour... is seeing who a person IS instead of what he/she ISN'T.

STRESS!! I think my last semester is pretty much very life-changing for me - even during the two months before my last sem started.. Anyways, I think I'm so, so engrossed with work that my friends are thinking I'm crazy, but what can I say? I love music. I love writing songs. I love arranging - even though I'm not that good at it.. that's all I've got now. (Sigh, on a side note, I think I'm so engrossed I even neglect my diet. I've put on weight ever since I'd been so obsessed working on my projects. Is that a good thing? To me.. I guess so. Yes and No. More.. Yes? Haha.. oh dear.) I've always had this unsettling feeling inside of me when people - including my parents - ask me what I'd be doing in the future and I'd hesitate because I know I'm nowhere near industrial standards and even if I am, I'm a nobody now because I lack exposure .. I'm afraid people would judge me at the back of their heads and think I'm not gonna

Where The Wild Roses Grow I've strangely always liked songs like these. Poetic in nature. This is a Murder Ballad.  "Porphyria's Lover"  by Robert Browning is a poem that has a similar theme; a man who loved a young woman so much that he killed her to preserve her beauty as she willingly gives herself to him. Lyrics Chorus: They call me The Wild Rose But my name is Elisa Day Why they call me it I do not know For my name is Elisa Day Verse 1 & 2: From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one As she stared in my eyes and smiled For her lips were the colour of the roses That grew down the river, all bloody and wild When he knocked on my door and entered the room My trembling subsided in his sure embrace He would be my first man, and with a careful hand He wiped at the tears that ran down my face [Chorus] Verse 3 & 4: On the second day I brought her a flower She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen I said, "Do yo