In your presence I go still, I cannot master my words
and I prefere to say nothing at all.
Afraid that my utterings will reveal my emotions
and gratitude. That you can hear my thoughts
through my voice.
I need to hold these walls up for just a little longer,
fearful that if I don’t you will trample
all over my poor damaged heart.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
The Lady of Shalott, oil on canvas by John William Waterhouse 1888
Holy fuck, LUSH + Pam = <3