might try to think fingers away, a bird in the bath of my eternity
A sustained note: those breathy songs quiet love in that bedroom, painted red then green then red again that night like every other
the stoplight at Grange and Stevenson will continue its never-ending cycle even once we're sleeping in different beds There's something so lonely and lovely about that
I'm probably gonna change this a lot or delete it but I'm feelin a little whooopdeeedoo so I'm gonna post this!