Folding corners into perfect shape
When forlorn pings make hell each escape
I came nightly to this place
By the way of a crooked and unseen highway
I can't find myself anyway
As she takes me there
I can't be myself anyway
Still she takes me there
Within seconds the room was filled
Angels pushed her from my windowsill
Far below me the semblance burned
Embers of halos kindling her
I can't find myself anyway
As she takes me there
I can't be myself anyway
Still she takes me there
Writer(s): Imaad Wasif
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