I think sometimes it’s not what we do, but what others do to us, that really defines us.
Sing me softly to the river
Breathe out for a (mo)ment
And the current will deliver
My life to the stream
Where the soldier met the sinner
Forever I'll dream
Of the love I found within her
Let Go Of My Hand Holding On Is No Solution
If Mortal Is Man This Is Not A Revolution
You really think they’ll miss you. You really do because; I mean, how could they not? You were such a huge part of their lives that how could they not have a gaping hole in their life. A gaping, un-fillable hole. But the thing is that that won’t miss you, they dont; because friends and lovers and in-betweens are so so easily replaced, and holes are far more easily ignored than filled.