Oh the layers! My god! Can't anything maintain any semblance of simplicity. Fuck! either gray and blurry or bright and overwhelming. ehhhhhh? yeah. we will see.
Writing slang without a direction in a dark room. Aim-less really No place for me Just singing into a juice box Dreaming of answer along the line of small pox Fear or laziness my friend Wrong numbers plague me But they are more welcome then right ones I think
Half drunk solo in the back Blues radiating from the stage. a beard singles me out through the swinging grabs my hand leans forward tells me with a grin "hang in there earn the end."