Sometimes I get the feeling that I am stuck in some sort of dream, unable to wake up, yet able to watch my entire world collapse around me. Time is such a violent predator, always waiting to hear the news of post tragedies. I've bid my farewell to every sunset, and counted every moon. Sooner or later these tides are going to wash this town away, and take every impurity with it. From sewer to treetop they'll run for safety, cowering at their own reflection. Behind it all will lay the broken shells of worn out streetlights. The bulbs crumbled and splintered glass remains embedded in our heels. Reminding us of a time no one can recall, when skyscrapers cursed the ground, and every tree screamed with outstretched arms, to a sky that wasn't listening. Why are all involved meant to hurt? To know what the truest form of being human is. We can watch as they dine on the downfall of our emotions. Streams of heartache and the sound of volatile rage rattle the spines of bystanders. Tearing the breath from our childrens lungs. Can you bear the sign of post collapse? A thought of chaos crosses the minds of the pure, and hollow eyes turn towards a dusken road. Here is your ghost town in all its glory. Movies of superimposed silhouettes play against the backboard of dusk drawing in every killer for miles.
Гуру Песен