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Burghley was built for Sir William Cecil, later 1st Baron Burghley, who was Lord High Treasurer to Queen Elizabeth I of England, between 1555 and 1587, costing £21,000 at the time. It was modelled on the privy lodgings of Richmond Palace.It was subsequently the residence of his descendants, the Earls, and since 1801, the Marquesses of Exeter. Since 1961, it has been owned by a charitable trust established by the family.

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www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lk1rGk34mss&list=PLfIYhXEQUBz...


(The kings of the world live at the top
They have the most beautiful view, but there's a but
They don't know what people think of them down there
They don't know that here, we're the kings
The kings of the world do whatever they want
They have people around them, but they're alone
In their castles, up there, they're bored
While down there, we dance all night long
We make love, we live life
Day after day, night after night
What's the point of being on earth
If it's to live our lives on our knees?
We know that time is like the wind
To live, that's all that matters
We know that we do no harm
The kings of the world are afraid of everything
It's because they confuse dogs and wolves
They make traps where they will fall one day
They protect themselves from everything, even from love
The kings of the world fight among themselves)

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www.youtube.com/watch?v=RU3PSaSSYXA&list=PLjcMOh2BnFg...

A solitary path, the shadows deep,
Where whispers of sorrow secrets keep.
I walk alone, with burdens untold,
A tapestry woven, stories of old.

The stones of unkindness, harsh and cold,
Like pebbles flung, a story unfolds.
Each impact echoes, a jarring sound,
A symphony of pain, all around.

The weight of their words, a heavy cloak,
A chilling wind, where spirits evoke
The fractured pieces of a shattered dream,
A silent anguish, a whispered scream.

My heart, a vessel, cracked and torn,
Where echoes linger, forever sworn
To carry the weight, the bitter sting,
Of rocks thrown, where hope takes wing.

And though the stones may continue to fall,
My spirit will rise, above them all.
For even in darkness, a light will gleam,
And hope's soft whisper, a comforting stream.

Emma 🌹

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www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVnxKAoFzBg

'Est celui qui lui jettera la première pierre?
Celui-là ne mérite pas d'être sur terre''


Emma, with eyes like forest grass,
Feels the cold stones, a story untold.
The crowd, a beast, with hateful, angry cries,
Throws rocks at her, beneath the weeping skies.

Her beauty, once a beacon, now a hide,
A target for their malice, dark and tight.
A cruel mockery, their hateful, cruel art,
A heart of gold, now shattered, torn apart.

The whispers turn to shouts, a wicked sound,
As judgment falls, on hallowed, sacred ground.
Her beauty, a curse, a haunting, cruel decree,
A life's tapestry, ripped cruelly, by misery.

2020♥

Emma🌹

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