Romance is dead in my eyes.
Love is a fleeting, mysterious being, who shall forever tempt my fragile heart from the truth and the light.
Hate is the real thing, hate is forever, for never, for the always and the eternal.
But then, sweet angel of the night, why does my hate for your transform into a delicate breathe of love when your lips brush my own?
Love is a fleeting, mysterious being, who shall forever tempt my fragile heart from the truth and the light.
Hate is the real thing, hate is forever, for never, for the always and the eternal.
But then, sweet angel of the night, why does my hate for your transform into a delicate breathe of love when your lips brush my own?
