Subejects of identity over cigarettes and textbooks
The insanity of trying to put words to feelings best expressed in the other
Don't you know what music is for?
Back against the wall wearing a three piece with the chains
Intoxicated as he's supposed to walking by the broken hearted
hedonist turned away from the romantic begger he gave his clothes to
The song he sings is soul over the battle drum in the distance
Miles sent a melody for future lovers fooled by chocolate
Black fist left young blue eyed anonymous abandoned his leather jacket
for feeling the same cold, despite what's been written
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment