The riffs I put on repeat
Never felt the same to him;
So difficult and different,
The cool, clear liquor in which I swim.
Always running, pages turning
Painful blows and silent doses,
Doesn't matter where we go
Can't fight this timely diagnosis.
The throes of passion pulled me under,
Loving waves and first afflictions,
Prescription for a vile infection
Of the heart’s disease, the soul’s addiction.