quarta-feira, 7 de outubro de 2009


I'll scream for a little freedom and they'll send me distant angels bearing gifts for my restless heart. If I bite, a fish dragging his bait against the jetstreams. And i'll do it, chances are.
Our memories will rush through my mind and hit like rain drops on the back of my head.
Walking on the streets feeling the moist concrete against my soles, missing you in the big city.
Bent spines will straighten in situations where the vocal cords have to quiet down thunderstorms.

Head against the pillow debating with the masterminds, not many kids to talk to in these four walls but my shadow and reflection will sometimes answer to my pleas. Walking back and fourth trying to keep my impatience down while you insist on walking over the bridges here instead of flying. I stop my mental rant to note down an old mans despair over life, not that he's told me anything about his life but as he sits his drink down on the table and has a staring contest with the sky... Something he hasn't done in his life haunts me.

I try to write the right thing down, but the goosebumps from the cold winds stop me from thinking too far into it.

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