Aug 2016
It's that time of day,
Where all of your sound starts to decay,
What is it with being right,
When there will always be a handful to write,
Who will tell us that this piece is perfect,
Why do we need to understand if it is correct,
How is it that we just stop,
Hushing onto the last testaments spinning on the top.
Where all of your sound starts to decay,
What is it with being right,
When there will always be a handful to write,
Who will tell us that this piece is perfect,
Why do we need to understand if it is correct,
How is it that we just stop,
Hushing onto the last testaments spinning on the top.
It seems it is really rude to just stop talking, especially when you do it back, the demons come out, and you are left with the twin barrels loaded and the tips of your bones pulling softly to whisper goodnight.
