My Motorcycle, by George Chow
The art of war.
Its my ride through the grey field.
Telling me becareful and be alert.
There are danger persue.
There are wounded love.
As i gear up my helm and resistance.
My love is in the wind waying me safe home.
The times I wash off its dirt by the tears.
For knowing when the smoke will stop.
And the life long story we fought.
Remains in the air with my motorcycle's roar.
|Posted: 2012-12-12 00:42:51 UTC|
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