The new car is a facade, you can see it in his smirk; there's a black tar soul under its white bodywork. He sells his demons under a snowy form, he finds his peace on a green heavy storm. No one has ever know him very well but they know he's related to a cartel. He has lots of fun, too may things he enjoys, not realizing he's the devil's toy. But I think he's the evil, as cruel as can be. He preaches his word of magnetic philosophy. You're cough just for fun. Glowing sparks in aquamarine. Comfy sea-scent room, you wish to stay in. You get a sugar rush every time you see him. Waiting for his company, not the best way of being free. You sit there beside him, pretend to rely. He offers you something, you don't have to pay. Tho his soft touch turns your skin into concrete you find yourself at his door dying to repeat.