a man can be no more ready for Feb… than he is for his own death bringing in the second wave of win… icy flakes whipping in the wind relentlessly low temperature
his grin covered in melted chocola… his hands covered in blood and no one to stop him thieves are not running scared they are running the show
i drag this carriage with a whip at my back slowly leading them to their destinations to their privileges
i love music i know everyone does but i really do nothing can soothe me as much as
when at war for so long peace becomes an awkward conflict so you keep fighting
his wings are lazy buzzing around the same pond a fly scared to change
i kneel on two bad knees i clasp together two
he keeps it bottled for days like these vintage destinies rush toward the… breaths of dead fruits inhale deep… and he drowns himself in their req…
dehydrated my heart became small hardened by the air of hopelessnes… with a little time and some water it has grown and changed
darkness does not pass suddenly nor does the light surrounding it though her love was a shadow i reticently remember hints of a star
time is one my side but what time is it? is it Killing Time?
dying to stay in tune they rattle eagerly to play one last song
watching horror films on vhs with gramma saturday nights
monuments of song returned to life in my hands records from dead men
a leaf hoped that the branch would be strong but they were both born from an ol… and those dying roots could only h… until there was no choice
