i hold this thing dear. have it.
rooolling at the wayside my eyes not open
terrain, my skin
(grass) bruising it doesn't
hurt hurt hurt hurt
hurt hurt hurt ,
too much time has passed
â
m time does not always move in one direction
y i have learnedâthat, (and that sometimesâit doesn't move
look âagain at youâ at all) â
clock it will never be the same p i am formed and reformed â
âlock ticks and fadesâaway m â formed
âmy words echo harshlyâ u âonce again, and it never stops repeating
i waitâŚâŚâŚâŚ for the right chance j
to
