Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days
- Emily Dickinson
lyrics
To every season is a treason
A treasure for the mind, a treasure for the mind to bury
Every time you say what's on your mind
Beware of what comes out, beware of what comes out
And then she said:
"Unto my looks so good to turn
Far ends of tired days"
No hesitation, no control
No control...
To every treason is a season
The measure of our time, the measure of our time
All hanging by a thread is what we are
Objects in mirror being closer than they appear
And then she said:
"Unto my looks so good to turn
Far ends of tired days"
No hesitation, no control
No control...