My hair is being pulled by the stars again
Just in the moment your eyes let go of mine
Wandering is a soul that loves what doesn't love it.
Thrashing me endlessly from each edge of my existence
Until what's left dies -
A memory slowly blurring away
Rippling steadily until there's no trace at all
How can something that makes you feel so alive just die?
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
My hair is being pulled by the stars again
Just in the moment your eyes let go of mine
Wandering is a soul that loves what doesn't love it.
Thrashing me endlessly from each edge of my existence
Until what's left dies -
A memory slowly blurring away
Rippling steadily until there's no trace at all
How can something that makes you feel so alive just die?