Just because you got it. You don't have to flaunt it. With an endless stream of famous men. Pretty as a portrait. Looked like Mamah Borthwick. On that Shining Brow of Taliesin.
There is nothing for which I am responsible. Just this baggage that I keep carrying on. As if I had someone. . Okay, maybe there is a woman somewhere.
You follow the footsteps. Echoes leading down the hall. To a room, there's music playing. Tiny bells with moving parts. Here the shadows make things ugly.
I was cold in a dream. Somewhere close to the surface. Between the ice and the stream. There is three inches of air. . So I swam towards the light. I let my breath get there first.
There is no beginning to the story, a bookshelf sinks into the sand. And a language learned and forgot, in turn is studied once again. It's a shocking bit of footage viewed from a shitty TV screen.
The kitchen is cold. But the coffee is warm. And the suns coming up. The day has just begun. And your already bored. . Bored of cheering me up. Bored of calming me down.