The mind speaks in tongue to the weary memories, they hear of what the fire brings, baptized in gasoline.
Running through the prison of memories and photos of illusions past, all afraid to see. My mouth is dry and cracked from cold flare of want. Please Lord, I have much to say, much to do.
Over the years and through the woods.
There’s no one here, people everywhere, we’re all alone, on our own.
Ill start at the finish, watch me soar.
I, Just, May Never, Come Down.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.