the swollen dreams of each shape and size / i picture them adorned in black and white / but they bend themselves now instead of bloom / and spend each night howling at the moon / it was a mess, but it was ours, it wasn't emptiness / it was a mess, but it was ours, it was ours to fix / patterns don't predict / four hands and feet were tethered in their sleep / untied apart so that our eyes won't meet / i don't raise my voice, i don't stand too proud / i don't own a shovel, i don't stir the groun
the swollen dreams of each shape and size / i picture them adorned in black and white / but they bend themselves now instead of bloom / and spend each night howling at the moon / it was a mess, but it was ours, it wasn't emptiness / it was a mess, but it was ours, it was ours to fix / patterns don't predict / four hands and feet were tethered in their sleep / untied apart so that our eyes won't meet / i don't raise my voice, i don't stand too proud / i don't own a shovel, i don't stir the groun
toekneerocks 11 months ago