These things
of a ruined day
They come out again
Things
that hide in you
In my own non-existence
piled up
on top of the silence
Other men grew
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
These things
of a ruined day
They come out again
Things
that hide in you
In my own non-existence
piled up
on top of the silence
Other men grew