I just want to write something for that song... I did this once for my little bro 
http://hunterlavella...-i-covered-this
He was standing beside the lake in the forest. It was dark, yet there was neither moon nor star at the sky. Everything was silence, until he heard a branch cracking behind him. Turning his head, he could see them approaching toward him, their flesh rotten, their eyes white and sunken and lifeless. He wanted to run but he could not move at all, his body paralyzed. They came for him, and he could not escape. He could feel their rotten fingers around his neck. He screamed… But nothing happened, they came for him and he could not run and they were going to kill him and…
“Cullen, wake up!” The sudden yet gentle jerk of his shoulders woke him up from his nightmare. At first he could feel all muscles in his body tensed up, sweat glistening from his brow, his breath shallow. Then he saw her sitting beside him, looking at him worriedly, wiping his forehead and temple with a wet piece of cloth. Her long curly blond hair framed her face, the soft candle light beside his bed accentuate her gentleness. He relaxed. He was safe, at home, on his bed. “Mia…” his voice croaked. She silenced him. Tentatively, she stroked his hair softly.
“You were having bad dreams,” she said guiltily. “I should not have told you that story yesterday…”. Cullen tried to sit but Mia stopped him, pushing him back gently to the bed. “Mother says you must lie down until your fever goes down.”
“It’s okay, I’m not afraid. I’m twelve this winter, and I like your scary stories.” Mia only smiles. Cullen knew that she refrained teasing him just because he was sick. Normally she would tease him until she got him all red in the face.
“Let me make up for you, so that you can sleep peacefully tonight. Close your eyes.” He did as she asked, his head pounding anyway. Then she sang softly, a lullaby that Mother always sings for them.
Come, little bird: fly faster, fly home.
Your wind-beaten wing-beats have carried you far.
Is your soul so weary? so lonely as mine?
No moonlight outshines your bright home-guiding star.
What green wood flew you by? What white waves soared you through?
What high star-peaked mountains leapt you in the dark?
Wonderer, wanderer, bitter-sweet yearning,
Come back, little bird, my hearth-home, my heart.
He smiled, the image of his sister singing for him in the candlelight imprinted in his mind forever. He tried to absorb as much as he could from this moment, treasuring it, knowing that this memory would always give him strength in the darkest hours. Slowly, the candlelight dimmed when he fell once again into the darkness. Yet this time the darkness felt warm.
- and yes usually goes with nice large hands.
Retour en haut
I'll just focus on his hands, keeps my mojo much happier 
)
