Monday, July 30

we've locked so tightly in our dreams,
we are not clean, we are not pure, we can not rest until we're sure.
so, rob your pretty little eyes of sleep's disguise,
i'm at your bedside with a bucket full of lies.
so, clear your ears and listen up:

pack your things, this place is not your home.

1 comment:

  1. Lieder und ihre erinnerungen, das kenne ich nur zu gut. Vermutlich auch noch viele andere..