peter pan will grow up in a way or another.
the king's crossing was the main attraction, dominoes are falling in a chain reaction...
i thought i saw a white cat in the back of the van.
i knew it was a sack.
sometimes, we want to see things staring back at us, and existing at a self-appointed focal point even when there is nothing, and will never (sort of) be anything.
that's voodoo for you and me, baby.
that's also paradise, which is another word for fake and bullshit.
[with that said, i want a bleeding heart tied to my ankles and a kitchen knife, sharp as hell, and some explosives (and maybe a big bag of smack?) and loads of silence because, yes, words can be sharp and can drive a stake inwards and though the body lasts shorter than the length of a novel and the pain only lasts the length of a physical existence, it is always better to be on the safe side but who really fucking cares, and that's all that matters right now, doesn't it dear?]
ramble, ramble; a load of paradise.
i remember sitting in a carpark, watching two pieces of faded yellow paper (stickers? tags?) take their turns in going up and down on the black escalator belt in a sardonic and monotonous cycle.
i could not help but feel a little lost, a little sad over and over.
i thought i saw a white cat in the back of the van.
i knew it was a sack.
sometimes, we want to see things staring back at us, and existing at a self-appointed focal point even when there is nothing, and will never (sort of) be anything.
that's voodoo for you and me, baby.
that's also paradise, which is another word for fake and bullshit.
[with that said, i want a bleeding heart tied to my ankles and a kitchen knife, sharp as hell, and some explosives (and maybe a big bag of smack?) and loads of silence because, yes, words can be sharp and can drive a stake inwards and though the body lasts shorter than the length of a novel and the pain only lasts the length of a physical existence, it is always better to be on the safe side but who really fucking cares, and that's all that matters right now, doesn't it dear?]
ramble, ramble; a load of paradise.
i remember sitting in a carpark, watching two pieces of faded yellow paper (stickers? tags?) take their turns in going up and down on the black escalator belt in a sardonic and monotonous cycle.
i could not help but feel a little lost, a little sad over and over.
Labels: lyrics
Hey, never knew you had a blog. Well now I do. Heh.
Posted by
Anonymous |
2:16 AM
are you harry_potter? kidding. who exactly are you? :)
Posted by
Anonymous |
5:25 AM