It feels like a house crumbling
Like frosted grass growing between my fingers and toes in a worm ridden hollow
It feels hollow
Where a house once crumbled in the dark of day when a chorus of synths played in C minor but no one cried
Because the bombs yesterday, last month, next week swallowed their sorrow and left them hollow
It feels cold
Like frosted grass growing above me as the sun shines with renewal
Everything could be ok
Ok but hollow
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 2:02 AM UTC
It feels like a house crumbling
Like frosted grass growing between my fingers and toes in a worm ridden hollow
It feels hollow
Where a house once crumbled in the dark of day when a chorus of synths played in C minor but no one cried
Because the bombs yesterday, last month, next week swallowed their sorrow and left them hollow
It feels cold
Like frosted grass growing above me as the sun shines with renewal
Everything could be ok
Ok but hollow
