but voices will fade, like how stars will die
and our quiet thoughts will vanish and not be
still i long to hear your voice lull me to sleep
and if the radio died, will you sing for me?

as
i take
these few seconds
to write for you
a few simple lines, sooner
or eventually time will break like
sandcastles in the wind, but stars are
there to witness how everything fits into place

and all everything stood for was just a masquerade
and we were nothing but faces in the crowd
playing the stupid game of life charade with the cursed snake
who pries his way into the minds of the weak and hopeless

( i took this by myself by the way, proud of it )

look out of the window, and there:
a painted grained wooden plank of
horrid rancid melted butter, and
draps of old cotton wool, grey and fading
slowly into dust, drifting away into the
murky yellow liquidity of the sky

and the musky, dense beforerain smell
of the air seems to keep telling me to
head indoors, but i can't be bothered no
longer

i just want the rain to drown out my pain