I could see the souls seeping through the stones on the horizon

on the horizon



my movements are drapes in a state of the art

your emotions lack the face I value in my state of the art



the oaks are over and the forest is now the shoulder

of all uncontrollable monotony

i pity you who know nothing

while i walk softer than this city



my movements are drapes in a state of the art

your emotions lack the face I value in my state of the art



keep in mind there is no such thing as awkward silence

when you're talking to yourself

won't you keep in mind there is no such thing as awkward silence

when you're talking to yourself