I dream of blue, and rooms of violet.
I want to sing songs about violence,
And talk about silence.
Guerilla's in a world gone mad.
Do I conquer just to find,
That all I gained is left behind?
You can't carry such weight,
And not be late.
Count your lucky stars with your fingers, then break them.
The melancholy rush washed over me like a past regret. How I lack sun, and a straight road framed by power poles and mountains. I just saw in a movie, what I had once dreamt about. We like to set things on fire. Riverside looks nice. I am restless to lose myself, and for greyhounds chasing the sun in the West.
I still swear back then, that I knew that I know nothing.
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