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And oh how I hate the morning.
Oh. Is the world back? I don't want it. Tell it to go away.
It's the same old, same old, same old story. Terminally restless. Yearning for intangible things. Every never singing and thirsty. Soon I will be on my knees, begging the weather to break.
Like the old script above the humming timepiece, a place where happy home has no meaning. I'm not really looking for happy, but I think I'm still trying to nail down home. I'm better than I was, then, when all those words were written. But this is still no place of shelter.
Who are we kidding? Shelter. As if.
It's the same old, same old, same old story. Terminally restless. Yearning for intangible things. Every never singing and thirsty. Soon I will be on my knees, begging the weather to break.
Like the old script above the humming timepiece, a place where happy home has no meaning. I'm not really looking for happy, but I think I'm still trying to nail down home. I'm better than I was, then, when all those words were written. But this is still no place of shelter.
Who are we kidding? Shelter. As if.