These four walls,
They hide my misery.
They echo no sympathy.
The paint makes me shivery.
Color white like ivory.
Marks on it can tell a story.
But these four walls,
Will not be the death of me.
Poetry from my Soul
These four walls,
They hide my misery.
They echo no sympathy.
The paint makes me shivery.
Color white like ivory.
Marks on it can tell a story.
But these four walls,
Will not be the death of me.