I just keep dying a day at a time.
I want to write a symphony.
I need to cure my cancer.
If I were running in Summer
grass barefoot at 10 again I'd
tell me to just do it the same.

Atoms. ***** and egg. Lovers
lost in lust and sleeping as your
miracle ignites into a life that finds
itself dying a day at a time wishing
to write a symphony and not ever
changing the script. Our lives.