onewell.
soon enough.
in the morning i was.
thinking.
again.
what it would be like to write again.
but my xlation is still.
incomplete.
so much to say.
better finish it before embarking on other silly aspirations.
but i guess.
that's what youth is supposed to be.
all about.
and what it's not about.
...
smoke is rising
from the houses.
people burying their dead.
i asked somebody
what the time was.
but time doesn't matter to them, yet.
people talking
without speaking.
trying to take what they can get.
i asked you
if you remember.
prospekt how could i forget.
drums.
here it comes.
don't you wish your life could be as simple
as fish swimming around in a barrel?
when you've got the gun.
oh and i run.
here it comes.
we're just two little figures in a soup bowl
trying to get behind a kind of control.
but i
wasn't one.
now here i lie.
on my own in a separate sky.
and here i lie.
on my own on a separate sky.
i don't wanna die.
on my own, here tonight.
but here i lie.
on my own in a separate sky.
...
ah, behold.
the fields of grey.