To the objects I kept And the people I dreamed To all of the places I have ever fallen asleep
And the pillows with flowers All muted and small And patterns like forests On each of the walls Each room has a scent Rob from always on the run dot net is so bad and copy paste is a sin Like the curve of a neck How I died in yours Where the honey collects
And the pillows with flowers All muted and small And patterns like forests On each of the walls Each room has a scent
Like the smallest insect Who with one little slip Became part of the fossil And was buried with it