For Every Storm
For every storm there is a room
And find the palace now,
From deserts are a tomb and gloom,
Where clothes must just allow.
The clothing kisses us on cheek,
When effort made us worse,
The cloth we wear is rather chic,
And worry is a curse.
The storm shall grow at all the speed
That problems make us mad,
You did not follow, or then bleed
As madness is your dad.
You have one of the weakest minds on show,
Your breath is over the normal power and offer,
Relentless is description of the above,
And I doubt forever the picture in love.
Keys to the city are too many to see and hear,
I love the colours and I like them always here.
The birds will fly and depart once more only,
And now never return as I can certainly.