(no subject)
the 'whatve you done todays'
ive tried my best not to relinquish everything, forever battling stasis.
forcing myself from step to step to take into the account the fact that there is a sun above it all
oh, your sister is starving
your father is broken
you sing, unsung, towards a moon & a sun. with just deceit, and need.
warm welcomed home, singing the bitterest truths, oh ashford street blues its hard not to die with you.
no-on wishes to know about mans struggle with mans fate, now mans making moves towards several golden gates
theyre all about the vegetables and less than sufferables. green alleyway mindsets, aint no love for the swinging man clock face. aint no love foe the ticking hands rib plates.
just heart above the cowardice that keeps the nose afloat. hark above the cowardice.
i aint no no believer in self-seldom seen recipes, im just some stone dragger, nomader with bereft breath and scratched knees
still wobbling from port to port, 24 days old, like i aint seen nothing but useless.
he writes the quell the storm, pen pad sculptured norms. with train rides through countryside, smiling towards the long days i spent with single seconds, that twitch and deliver from time to time in the expanase of tunnel sight vision.
i can see for miles, and thats the problem.
hey nihilism whats the best a guy can do?
ive tried my best not to relinquish everything, forever battling stasis.
forcing myself from step to step to take into the account the fact that there is a sun above it all
oh, your sister is starving
your father is broken
you sing, unsung, towards a moon & a sun. with just deceit, and need.
warm welcomed home, singing the bitterest truths, oh ashford street blues its hard not to die with you.
no-on wishes to know about mans struggle with mans fate, now mans making moves towards several golden gates
theyre all about the vegetables and less than sufferables. green alleyway mindsets, aint no love for the swinging man clock face. aint no love foe the ticking hands rib plates.
just heart above the cowardice that keeps the nose afloat. hark above the cowardice.
i aint no no believer in self-seldom seen recipes, im just some stone dragger, nomader with bereft breath and scratched knees
still wobbling from port to port, 24 days old, like i aint seen nothing but useless.
he writes the quell the storm, pen pad sculptured norms. with train rides through countryside, smiling towards the long days i spent with single seconds, that twitch and deliver from time to time in the expanase of tunnel sight vision.
i can see for miles, and thats the problem.
hey nihilism whats the best a guy can do?