the poetry is based on three concepts:
darkness, silence and tenderness,
linked to an occasional ***.

the rural part in me
wants to by this city
and to put some meadows around the downtown.

I died at my death
And that was a shame
My sun went to nova
With no one to name

I died at my death
And that was a pain
My song undersung
And nothing to gain

I died at my death
You called out my name
Weeping and broken
But no one's to blame

I died at my death
I went to the grave
What I spent of my duty
My heart couldn't save

I died at my death
They put up a stone
My flesh fall to rot
Til there's nothing but bone

Bonnie before Clyde, Clyde on his own
Twist and turn and racked with bugs
Fighting sleep and giving up
The constant strain of the unknown

Losing focus on simple things
Notice the stillness in the frenzy
Life in such a small place is a matter of scale

Remember the times we used to sneak out at night
To go and catch fireflies
Grab a jacket and cup of coffee on nights that were cold
Chess was the game for getting ourselves new friends
New faces before signing up for Facebook
That was our way
Trying to fit in
Each chance we got was always ruined
We had to build our world
Not minding being rich or poor
White or black
Tall or short
Long as we always looked out for each other
For we had us and that was beautiful
And it mattered