suburbia screaming
What the ****
with simple guitars
playing simple sounds

universal youth
with our thin walls
and hands stained with dye
drowning out the empty

the rage of the plain

its 71 degrees and mostly sunny in new york
which is 4 degrees warmer
than where you are

It isnt too late for compassion
And it isnt too late for hope
You from the city
Who comes from peace
Knows no difference
Between land and borders
I come from the coldwar
I come from plains
And I've seen the real need
To be unified
To be free

My childhood clouds
Have come back to say hello
Baby's fingertips
I cradle my own face

I am a child
though life is short
I can feel her naivety, her fear
Her freckles have come back
Her eyebrows are grown
I can see only her face
in my small reflection

I am a child and
you are a man
but life is short
so who is to say

momma i'm in the living room
listening to you cry again
momma i miss you
except for when you call
don't tell me you love me
just look after your son
stay calm, momma
the stars will come

my brain has begun to unravel
the chords unwind and unknot
suddenly my motivations are
each their own separate branch
separate root
of which new inspirations sprout

it is hard to handle and
i feel too plentiful
too filled with words
that have no time to express themselves

time is working against me in this moment
it quickens
so that these ideas never set foot
my own mind whiplashing me
into another moment
when I was not yet finished
with the last