in my time of dying all i've grown to be

english can't define these feelings

i keep waiting

there's a strange time called trying that's vague like us

i can always try harder which means i never try enough


my mind is always crying

concentration, saturation

an aquaintance is so naive

or just a blind soul


fifty and a month

is so long for some


understanding becomes my snair

the harder i struggle, the more confined i become

does quanity stop at empty

does quanity stop with you


fifty and a month

is just a blink for me


fifty and a month