(no subject)
god in plastic bags, seeking refuge on street corners.
bodies werent ment to be stepped on.
who needs stars when you have routine?
we were all born here, and the holes in the wall will be all
thats left in the end.
scattered hands engaging in scattered conversation.
headlights reflecting off faces of the past and the future.
you cant place a name to a face and thats what scares you.
youre still waiting for the bone and ash to arive with the evening paper.
bodies werent ment to be stepped on.
who needs stars when you have routine?
we were all born here, and the holes in the wall will be all
thats left in the end.
scattered hands engaging in scattered conversation.
headlights reflecting off faces of the past and the future.
you cant place a name to a face and thats what scares you.
youre still waiting for the bone and ash to arive with the evening paper.