Oh, the cold air...
Thursday, 25 February 2010
19:05Jesus, 23:25 (não, não é salmo!) e nada ainda?
There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms
Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her
Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms
''Fala-se tanto da necessidade de deixar um planeta melhor para nossos filhos e, esquece-se da urgência de deixarmos filhos melhores para o nosso planeta''
There are things that drift away like our endless, numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from the piles of fallen leaves
Autumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believe in the hymns her mother sings
Sunday pulls its children from the piles of fallen leaves
A frase, acho que o Beto já havia me falado dela,ou eu vi num e-mail que a Jú me mandou, achei tesão. Não tenho filhos, mas acho que a lição é estupenda. Eu já sou um filho, e eu vivo com todos os outros filhos, e quer saber? A perspectiva não é nada boa.
There are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
Springtime calls her children until she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds
Springtime calls her children until she let's them go at last
And she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
Somewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds
O layout (finally something [kiiiind of] by myself) mudou again.10³²! Ele é editado,mas os créditos continuam. Love it, essa foto foi uma das 1as
que eu achei no stumble.
There are names across the sea, only now I do believe
Sometimes, with the window closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone
springtime
Sometimes, with the window closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothes and they'll kiss as if they know
A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone
springtime
Iron e Wine - Passing Afternoon
Vamos sem foto hoje, porque não achei nada e as únicas que eu manipulei é a do fundo e uma que eu vou guardar para outro post. E outra que eu tmb vou guardar para outro post!
Information
Here is where I'm free. Free to write, free to think. I'm all by myself, all to myself. Only me. I can shout my fucks and cry my Oh Gods. Look to my madness or say "who are you?" Today, I fell connected. Tomorrow, maybe not. Maybe I'm too worried with other things, someone is here with me. Maybe inspiration didn't hit me. My most important thoughts (to me) come to me when I'm far away from notepads and notebooks, but close to myself. That's what this is made of.
useful links
Home, sweet home
Michaelis
Macmillan
diccionario real academia española
Fanfiction.net
Stumbleupon!
skoob
series download, yep
About
We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look
back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at
least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important,
and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your
happiness.
— Hunter S. Thompsonthe months passed by...
January 2010,
February 2010,
March 2010,
April 2010,
May 2010,
June 2010,
July 2010,
August 2010,
September 2010,
October 2010,
November 2010,
December 2010,
Credits
(This awesome layout isn't mine. I got if from CREATE BLOG, and made my adjustments.) ------
Layout: tuesdaynightResources: 1 2