Holes to fall through, Grey morbid reminder of the wholy uncrossed,
Wordless is the raindrop, When the fearless feign misfortune, It's streaked out across the markless maps, A slipstream out on arms of dumbed down, Loosed by the dark sky, Let fall by the places forlorn, And striking out and down, Only a ripple, finding nothing in the grave of
Patterns, the walkway from here, Raindrops lay down dreading, What befalls the worried lines, Looking out, its breakneck, Sped from windows, Blue stars, black rugs, carried away.
Never thought it would be like this you know. Always thought it would just be so far away. The lamposts are gone and burnt out now. A red word for blue fellows is something I will ask for
( Read more... )