storm the grounds, mad as cows, diseased, and ready to die
enjoy every second of it, as this is truly our last shot at being everything
becoming our whole hearted ghosts.
you say we are so much more than flesh and bone,
we are so much less than gifts
we are barely donations
looking for something to answer all of the questions that you raise
my nerves never felt so isolated
so something familiar found its way through the fair grounds
I bleed in line with your queue path
looking down on myself,
I feel quaint and ire that I have become a subject of my own losses
every battle fight is lost - it must be my french blood line
through every path we walk we look at the same sky asking for answers
my mirrors don't reflect the same person I know I am
I feel lost and weightless
we died here on the same place we saved our selves
you push me far away, I just wish you'd pull me closer
my death is to be found restlessly undiscovered at present time though my soul
embodies everything that I put my useless fingers on
though you may wish for hope,
you can only hope for a miracle
so I shoot right past you and pray for your life to change
as a mess I find myself quite organized in a situation where I am ready for sleep
I am afraid you have tried to mine more gold than I have
hoping you'd find yourself some kind of fortune
all that I can give you is gravel
as light has never seen this time, walk through streets of detailed destruction
become of us what has become of this city,
well placed, put together and functioning.
but what if you leave?
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