| |
year:
this trailer park
makes great art
the rose grows in shit
and melts weak hearts
time isn't real
it's made by me
i made it up
to sort my days
this time i'm ready
can you hear my call?
through these thick branches
the curtains fall
but i'm not done
but i gave up
on extention and abstract confessions
and what i mean is then is now
'cause i'm never there
i'm always here |