Long for a pure existence.
Safe inside the comfort -
Of my own mind.
Contemplating this idea
Of throwing it all away.
Head for the hills,
for the mountain peaks,
for the coast.
Content of my wallet is fitting-
No paper,
No value to the plastic.
So, whats the point?
Working towards working towards dying.
Fuck all that, I'm out.
You cant buy clarity,
At least I dont think you can.
Grew up in the country.
God I miss the birds.
All the birds around here look sick.
I think it's from eating so much fast food.
Miss the stars too.
Miles and miles, stretching -
Pin-points of untouched hope.
Thats gotta be pure, to think -
That star is a part of everything
And everything a part of it.