yet, the time has come.
the last is in the ground,
this section of the city is dead.
much like this room.
why are people so easy?
why are times so tired?
palm-muted guitar solos
the only metaphor i can give you.
maybe i had said something
that the world can't get over.
i wish i could make it better.
but, maybe i could just hope you fail,
in every single way.
No comments:
Post a Comment