My thoughts spring like nightingales up to where bloody roses sail, but shot down by king, queen and clown, they lie broken, unspoken, aground. So I just lie on abandoned tracks, fighting white and forging black, waiting/wishing for tomorrow, hours dwindling in a bottle of wine. Watch the ribbons shine across the sea.
Dried up hearts and clenching fists, flowers fighting to exist, blinking scars and winking skirts - and god I hate these goddamn fireworks! Sacred theaters, Gordian knots, houses dressed in polka dots, the city dancing to the sound of drums… I won’t bother leaving crumbs behind. I’ve made up my mind: I'll cross the sea.