(Hey!). . The way they look and move, the way they always prove. To be on your mind but not on your side. There's no accident in a life that's spent. Watching time move on and on and on.
The summer child is running, the summer child is running again.. The summer child is running, the summer child is running again. When you hear the feet and the sound of laughter,.
Songs made of whispers silent screams. Like a choral of the dead needles. Prick the softest skin. And the breeze scream blood lust. . These eyes gazing over the hilltops burning red.