And now? What else do I do?
What will I do when everybody is gone?
For who shall I fight if I don't even know myself anymore?
A poem of doubts lives in my head as a flea lives
In the ear of a dog that maybe, one day, barking will stop.
The nights were made for ****** drunks and the sick of love people but also for those who minds won't ever stop barking.
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 2:50 AM UTC
And now? What else do I do?
What will I do when everybody is gone?
For who shall I fight if I don't even know myself anymore?
A poem of doubts lives in my head as a flea lives
In the ear of a dog that maybe, one day, barking will stop.
The nights were made for ****** drunks and the sick of love people but also for those who minds won't ever stop barking.
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