Tunes in my head: Blake Says by Amanda Palmer
Atmosphere: Bipolar
he tells me that he's fine
and the sad thing is he's right
and when it's two o'clock
it feels like eight
he tells me that he's not fine
and the sad thing is he's right
when it's eight o'clock
it feels like two
we suffer mornings most of all
we suffer evenings most of all
--
it's such a fine distinction only eleven have ever had
no surprise that a comatose state began
shine bright lights down and watch blinkering beacons
dart from side to side from place to placeless place
completely distanced through any simple reason
and now just out of space out of mind
it's not like glue if it can be torn
like some paper airplane like some mache tiger
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1 comment:
It's nine, not eight. :)
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