It was just before the moon hung Her weary heavy head in The gallows and the graves of The milky milky cradle His tears have turned to poppies A shimmer in the midnight A flower in the twilight A flower in the twilight
And our screaming Is in his screaming Our screaming in the willow
They took him to the gallows He fought them all the way though And when they asked us how we knew his name We died just before him Our eyes are in the flowers Our hands are in the branches Our voices in the breezes
And our screaming Is in his screaming Our screaming in the willow tree
We're waiting by the willow Our milky milky cradle Our lockets long have rusted His picture worn and weathered Our hair is in the garden The roses in our toeses Our heart are in the blossoms Our eyes are in the branches
And our screaming Is in his screaming Our screaming in the willow tree
Our screaming Is in his screaming Our screaming in the willow tree
I believe story telling is an art form and blogging is a medium in which to share stories and ideas. Within this blog I hope to cover a spectrum of topics. From the serious to the silly. Here you will read my views and inquiries about subjects such as feminism, other various socio-political issues, psychology, spirituality, sexuality, and general interests such as film, art and music. You will also be exposed to my obsession with cupcakes, tea, books, Hello Kitty, and quirky day to day journeys. I enjoy learning from others as I am constantly attempting to introspect, grow and evolve. During this process I will be jotting down musings on this blog. Pull up a comfy chair and a spot of tea and join me!
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