It's a cohort to weep about
I'd dream about crying to

Making beautiful songs only I'd understand, because of course, I am a baffled artist
Because I am true to my ego, I have nothing to show for it, it's only sincere,
that I stagnante, that I don't create, that I move to a different country
All I want is to believe, believe

Oh my god, I need you close, I want it back so bad, the vision of her I had, the one who was tortured,  

The one who cried and threw up her emotions in paint and scribble
I miss her - the one who was crude
Not you.
You're boring now

You decipher your emotions
And now everyone is bigger than you, in a way

But you still tell everyone to shut up, just in a more intelligent way, not in a

Trueness is sweat,

Tears and blood you work cry and bleed
But your blood is sort of whet on
You bleed fruitless vanity
And dampen the clothes of crying feebled children







wee wooo wee ooo weeooo
trip grand jetée
Pennies sold on fruitless array
Pity souls in the