So my mouth taste like pavement

everything changes everyday

my head filled with blood

and echoes presents themselves



confusion Sieze the story

my old hands so wretchedly, I

don't know what to do

with my/your life



time to pack it up

and replace the crown

the king fucked up

the queen is fine

but perhaps

the prince feel a bit down






your hair

your absence

you're flare

you call

every morning

to say goodnight/Goodbye