3 de dez de 2012

Natasha Bedingfield - Unwritten

 

Unwritten

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand
Ending unplanned

Starring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun iluminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

oh oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes
But I can't live that way

Starring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun iluminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is when your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

 * * *

Assim como os autores colocam um pedaço de si em cada obra escrita. Nós também escrevemos a nossa história diariamente.
Nossa vida é um livro, um livro com todas as páginas em branco das quais a cada segundo que passa escrevemos ali, nessas páginas a nossa vida, a nossa história.

Karina Belo

 

 

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