Surreal come, surreal go
Surreal leaves foot prints in your soul
Surreal loves the fields to be mellowed
Surreal dream of a bed of gold
Surreal wants to be with you till old
Surreal do not want to be followed
Surreal saw a big big hole
Surreal jump into and began to roll
Surreal hopes to be told
Surreal gives you a hope of gold
Surreal wish you be there to hold
Surreal thought you were the one at the end of the hole
But Surreal saw no one out in the cold
Surreal always between fold
So Surreal chose to die in the cold and odd gallow.
No comments:
Post a Comment