I rub the contour of my face,
Look into the mirror
And nothing's replaced.
So I look away,
So it didn't fade away,
Seven days on its way
Crooked lines had been retraced,
It didn't fade away.
There is always a reason
You don't want to stay,
But we say we miss it anyways.
The lines bind this train to the track,
Derailed, yet prevailing to stay intact.
Time is the length between theory and fact,
But metal on metal just whimpers and drags.
Outbound,
No sound,
A lack of responses,
Confounding this town for something I've lost.
The gasoline burned before it met eastern sun.
And delusions to truth rivaled
Three,
To,
One.
No comments:
Post a Comment