(no subject)
...does not look the same...from out here...
A great crescendo with no innuendo keeps my spirits high, keeps me going for one more try. Except that this morning, I found the metallic taste of a twitch creeping up my spine and into my mouth. They didn't notice, because their heads were staring at the sky. Clouds going by, and I didn't try to stop them, because they're all in step, on their way to yet another cavern and oh, Mr. H, please stop being so big, the joy from your mouth suffocates, even the fish cannot breathe this air. An unwanted smile pulls its way out of the dungeon, and yes I'm irritated that I still have these problems, but oh have you heard my new album? Yes, I'm fine. But stop asking, because I love the way you say it. It's not so much the words, but the way they come out, it's the "I hate you" with love, and the "I love you" with frustration and gashes (and blood). On sun basked wicker chairs we saw, they saw, everyone saw and felt though we all looked away. I'm sore from the lack of life, I've lent it out for so long. "My cup is full and running over," but noone understands that, although surprise, and friendliness make up for that. I love to sing.
and suddenly I stop worrying, with warmth and glee.
A great crescendo with no innuendo keeps my spirits high, keeps me going for one more try. Except that this morning, I found the metallic taste of a twitch creeping up my spine and into my mouth. They didn't notice, because their heads were staring at the sky. Clouds going by, and I didn't try to stop them, because they're all in step, on their way to yet another cavern and oh, Mr. H, please stop being so big, the joy from your mouth suffocates, even the fish cannot breathe this air. An unwanted smile pulls its way out of the dungeon, and yes I'm irritated that I still have these problems, but oh have you heard my new album? Yes, I'm fine. But stop asking, because I love the way you say it. It's not so much the words, but the way they come out, it's the "I hate you" with love, and the "I love you" with frustration and gashes (and blood). On sun basked wicker chairs we saw, they saw, everyone saw and felt though we all looked away. I'm sore from the lack of life, I've lent it out for so long. "My cup is full and running over," but noone understands that, although surprise, and friendliness make up for that. I love to sing.
and suddenly I stop worrying, with warmth and glee.