the streets are wet and the lights bright.
i have left you once again,
the air smells of ozone, beads of despair
cover my mirrors as i glance around wearily.
i close my eyes periodically, feel them swell up.
so tired from this.
chris is saying that he wants to die a death of cold,
because he's scared of growing old.
he sings and i sing with him.
the red lights taunt me,
your face is in the watery reflections all around.
your face is a magnet.
and i am weak to your pull.
No comments:
Post a Comment