Flood me

Hypocrisy and thunder

Wash the streets i slumber

The patter of the feet on the ceiling

Waits for the call of my number

I look to you in an instance

But see clouds as sharp as crimson

And the falling sheep cry linen

For what we’re made for is none of our business

But another

To another

Until the power is dispersed

Words are then quickly cursed

To be sucked back up and buried

So forget the fucking hearse

Lover

By day and by night

Shadows of two different sights

Though if you choose to stay in this desert,

Understand my attempt in flying kites