desert town of fools born of sand and rainmakers devoted to thirst
all of my weary and all of my woe is made into perfect sense a common thread in my favorite son… familiar tones of sadness the beauty of malaise
he does not to leave the vine out of any loathing for his kin he simply can not stay waiting around to turn to raisin knowing that out there somewhere
going out for Golden Gloves when i was a teenager i trained as hard as anyone paid close attention to the scienc… my coach
short glass of water to wash back the pills in hand last glass of water
the blade has always been dull how it was made never
his wings are lazy buzzing around the same pond a fly scared to change
decorated in soft skin vines of fire drape around her fireproof face my eyes kneel in worship of a goddess passing by
broken headstones in a cemetery of… bacteria running rampant feeding off the bones of the dead decay cannot be undone time will always bring about the i…
THE ARTIST constantly trying to get somewhere he
after a day surrounded by philisti… a not yet broken poet takes refuge in the familiar peace of desolatio… echoing quietly through two small… years ago this song came to him
You have found me smothered in a shadow. You have stumbled up a child; one whom carries storm clouds arou…
we wait under a black umbrella beneath the branches of a silhouet… for clouds to be chased away by th… snarling jaws of light
right at that age where she is lea… like a cynical fox taking guarded… in the forest still looks for someone she doesn’… but knows it is because she believ…
