Souls slip on the verge between night and day and I sigh. Strange things happen and none of his words was a lie. Bottles run dry for our youth, another strange mood. And our fate is a nasty bitch and the past is always a dying man, and I wrote a book to put all of ours in a burning flame.
I watched the daylight carve the drapes just like he told me would happen and it felt like he was tessellating my inners. Naah…I just felt good, so right. Simple as that and feelings are always a fact. And when I left for yet a distant land, I felt calm. Strangeness is never a bore.