I stood inside your pool in some palm setting reel. A picture on a screen there sat you and me. And i comb the wire for a lock of papier-mache. I build a tower for you to portray.
Long before this deserted map. You use to dim to light. The person you show one use to believe. The facet has blurred the link. You boil the greatest of lakes.
This drone you sound alarmingly meek. Is inside my head and plummets my bed. It rallies and summons me in my sleep. The sun is groggy and upon your plate.