Glossophobia
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Maybe everyone who loved meWas just a coincidence, or a passing time.Maybe the tear in my eyesIs but a metaphor for the rain.My heart leans toward all that''s beautiful,Still pure, still upon its nature.I trusted people whose faces were false,And they left a hundred stabs in my back.
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Maybe everyone who loved meWas just a coincidence, or a passing time.Maybe the tear in my eyesIs but a metaphor for the rain.My heart leans toward all that''s beautiful,Still pure, still upon its nature.I trusted people whose faces were false,And they left a hundred stabs in my back.
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