Post by Wallflower on Mar 6, 2005 3:46:21 GMT -5
The echoes, they becon, they call;
All kinds of sounds coming down the hall.
They seem to speak, they seem to yell;
With all these things they say, they hide their secrets well.
One can not help but wonder;
What goes on in their beautiful world, their beautiful splunder.
To us it is hidden deep within the surface, not to be shown;
We are oblivious to it, it is completely unknown.
The air itself, is of a strange degree;
It gracefully speaks the words that were meant to be.
All kinds of sounds coming down the hall.
They seem to speak, they seem to yell;
With all these things they say, they hide their secrets well.
One can not help but wonder;
What goes on in their beautiful world, their beautiful splunder.
To us it is hidden deep within the surface, not to be shown;
We are oblivious to it, it is completely unknown.
The air itself, is of a strange degree;
It gracefully speaks the words that were meant to be.