As I immerse myself in a field of gray
not picturesque, not meant to stay,
I smell the coffee in your hands,
begging me back to majestic lands;
I fall into your embrace when beckoned,
only to drown in whiskey second.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
As I immerse myself in a field of gray
not picturesque, not meant to stay,
I smell the coffee in your hands,
begging me back to majestic lands;
I fall into your embrace when beckoned,
only to drown in whiskey second.
Written October 25, 2010