Brushed down a thousand times for how many times I lost count
in a drifting early Fall wind I've been thinking thoughts of death
how many times more than this will the looping happen again?
I guess I'll find out, well
I guess
If I knew, I'd be dead
Filled with only love grown cold
In the deep, full expansive nothingness
Lost floating in the center of the lake of all regrets
or no regrets,
I guess
Lonely thoughts break and fade in where faded faces dissipate
in the last trace of windy Springtime memory in the blue endless night
revisited, must be forever, ever all too familiar, uncanny
sunlight far away from here
I may be better off in rain,
I guess
I guess
