For all my good intentions, there are days when things go wrong or I fall into old habits. When things are not going well, when I'm grumpy or mad, I'll realize that I've not been paying attention to my soul and I've not been following my best routine.
I hold my face in my two hands. No, I am not crying. I hold my face in my two hands to keep the loneliness warm - two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my soul from leaving me in anger.
I sold my soul, you brought it back for me. And held me up, and gave me dignity.
I stand before you a weekend version of your reflection begging for direction, for my soul needs resurrection.
You breathed on me and made my life a richer one to live, when I was deep in poverty you taught me how to give. Dried the tears up from my dreams and pulled me from my hole, quenched my thirst and satisfied the burning in my soul.
My wife sent me a Valentine card that said, "Take my heart, take my lips, take my soul." That's just like her. She kept the good parts for herself.
Deep in my soul, I've been so lonely, all of my hopes fading away. I've longed for love, like everyone else does, I know I'll keep searching after today.
I began to see that my problems, seen spiritually, were really my soul's plusses.
In each of my characters there is a little of me. Not strictly autobiographical but a little piece of my soul.
I wish I came from a more pure place. I don't have something to say from the bottom of my soul. I just know how to take stuff I like and repackage it in a slightly different way.
I have to pay the bills just like everybody else, but it also pays my soul to work.
My soul is more at rest from the tempter when I am busily employed.
When I first began to combine letters other than Hebrew, I read every book in German that came my way, and from these I certainly received according to the nature of my soul.
Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul.
My soul is lost, my friend, tell me how do I begin again? My city's in ruins, my city's in ruins.
When we love the stars light up, the wrong becomes undone. Naturally, my soul surrenders.
Look into the windows of my soul. The eyes never lie, they bloodshot red.
Empty and cold, but it keep me alive. I gave it my soul, so that I could survive.
I wanna die young and sell my soul, use up all your drugs and make me come.
I must confess that I am usually drawn to sadness, and loneliness has never been a stranger to me. But love tried to welcome me, but my soul drew back, guilty of lust and sin.
I've been circling the wagons down at Times Square, trying to fill up this hole in my soul but nothing fits in there.
The rhythm is below me, the rhythm of the heat. The rhythm is around me, the rhythm has control. The rhythm is inside me, the rhythm has my soul.
Inside the walls of a prison my body may be, but my Lord has set my soul free.
Everyone of them words rang true and glowed like burning coal, pouring off every page like it was written in my soul from me to you.
When you touch me there, honey, makes my blood perspire, you got my body flaming like a California fire. Pulsing, pounding, pushing no longer in control, heatwave in my brain, smolder in my soul.
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