Im crawling out of my imprisoned fleshy fortune
Ryan adams playing directly to my brain
I constantly ask myself whats the ******* point
I answer myself, the point is the tip of my pen
Stretching out in strange echoes of eternities, so many lives stumbling across the earth with plans, dissipated amongst the heap of existence
The muddy trance that drawls you into yourself for a little meeting
Between the words spoken and the conscience poking through the current of the brain
Distractions and disappointed rhyme
Flooding emotion so ******* lost inside the mill, the dreaming takes hold when there is nothing left
Feeding the creatures that lurk in electricity hollows, caverns
Could have been anything
Could have been you
Im not really sure
Is this me
This is culminating leftovers from bygones
The poles are shifting and so am I
Another wandering with story's to tell
Maybe you have heard it all before so what is left
This is me i suppose
How about you my friends.
Is love the answer