Calling. . .
I can’t sing through my mouth,
But I can sing through poetry,
I’ve been calling for someone,
Someone to call my own,
Not sure who she is,
A girl that sings so pretty,
A taste for adventure,
Not afraid of the unknown,
But excepts me even if I don’t have a spine,
But she has the passion to work with that,
Knows my past and knows what hell fells like,
And knows that love is a double edge sword,
A sword which is stained with burnt love from hell,
So now I call one more time just before my flame burns out,
A flame that if dead kills me,
So as I call out I hope she comes to rescue me,
To rescue me from the path of lost hope,
And I hope she comes because I’ve never had a full chance to love,
So now I’m calling and she answers the call.