Simple patterns place the tune into a new earshot of space every afternoon. Withering and twisting it all looks the same but it feels different on the inside it knows its own name. The key and the flats The vicious cycle of white, black or both. Some technicolor grey.
You've got to really accept it that the heart knows what to do if you don't, the pressure changes and the your life ends far too soon. Time will hit you like a brick being thrown from a hurricane & in time, those of us who know our name will still be somewhat sane.
I couldn't promise the plan I couldn't promise anything. But I could feel the way you felt when you knew I was taking on everything. Maybe you waited to watch as I tripped on myself. Stummbling through a violent storm of mind My own Hell.