You
can see my blood. It's confused about direction, like my brain because my life, my life, my
life doesn't fit into a straight line. I've got wrinkles and thoughts in my spine.
How long does upon feel the sting of a rock, thrown by a child and scared to cross?
Skipped across, but the low tide, when the ground is exposed, is it all caught of veins,
begging for skin, or a truth that's been tried in the gloom?
My life, it doesn't fit into a straight line. I've got wrinkles and thoughts in my spine.
How long does upon feel the sting of a rock, thrown by a child and scared to cross?
On the way to death, I heard the saddest joke, save yourself, save yourself.
On the way to death, I heard the saddest joke, save yourself, save yourself.
Save yourself.
Save yourself.
Save yourself.
Save yourself.
