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These Precious Things...

Let Them Bleed, Let Them Wash Away.


For some, music is not just a pasttime,
It's an undeniable fact of living,
A blissful slavery of mind, body, and soul.
To rise above the ashes of mediocrity is rare,
Yet the gift of song is freely handed out to anyone who cares to receive it,
Instantly shattering our daily drudgery.

The path to pursue more than the usual,
More than what is safe and known,
Is wrought with time-sharpened jagged blades that cut deep,
Blocking many from the road to something greater,
Beyond the stunted imagination of their peers.

Within the veins of the few,
Passion fills every sinew with a sweet unquenchable purpose,
Calming the fear of those treacherous paths.
Through each slice burns and bleeds,
Still they take each cut
And wear the scars with pride to signal their choice,
That undying pursuit of greater joy within every chord.

And so they say - Watch Me Bleed

OK now for the Pimpin-- most of the brushes or borders i use are from one of these totally awesome people, or my totally awesome self.

quebelly (best shit ever!)