I sold my soul for a memory of you, one not even long enough to be recorded
on vinyl and small enough to trap in the empty pen I used to write
down these words. In a sense youβre now eternal since souls are boundless and
yours is now my ink. Donβt warn your children of strangers or drugs, rather of soul buyers
on street corners at 8PM in July. Rejection itself is enough of a drug.
(Sold/lost: a reverse connotation where one letter is enough to overlook the mistranslation)
This is what all these playlists and vintage shops do to me, paired up with the fact that I see you escorting a new girl into your car every day and knowing I won't be one of them; foolish, considering the fact you've already said "no".