On the hunt for my journal everything becomes a jungle.
Desk, clothes, bed all fade to leaves
Or shadows, hiding what I seek
So dearly.
I am a huntress searching passionately
For a book some might call mere,
But I call precious.
Not because it holds my secrets,
But because it is one of the few things in my life that has
Stayed.
Desk, clothes, bed all fade to leaves
Or shadows, hiding what I seek
So dearly.
I am a huntress searching passionately
For a book some might call mere,
But I call precious.
Not because it holds my secrets,
But because it is one of the few things in my life that has
Stayed.