If you're cool with it, right, I need you to go back to remembering that you're a poet. . Who's daughter, who's daughter's on that stage?. I know her, I know her by her name.
Rage colored lilies. Brave colored in pity. Lights smother this city. I pray he doesn't forget me. I pray he doesn't forget me that lonely night in november when we fell into the hands of the coldest day in december.
You should write a song where the concept is.... You're basically writing like a love letter, or like a piece of advice. To your mother, when she was your age.
You have no interest in the past. Where you came from, or where you're going to. There's a cliché in your eye. File the edges down, soon be underground.