♫•✿•Rhythmic•.Grace•✿•♫

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.  

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window,       

Were you to cross the world, my dear, To work or love or fight, I could be calm and wistful here, And close my eyes at night.