| | "There's a harvest each Saturday night at the bars filled with perfume and hitchin' a ride. A place you could stand for one night and get gone. And it's clear this conversation ain't doin' a thing cause these boys only listen to me when I sing... And I don't feel like singing tonight... Oh, the same song... Here in these deep city lights, girl could get lost tonight. I'm finding every reason to be gone, there's nothing here to hold onto..."
A pounding in my head, my chest heaving with each breath, and the screen a blur.
And as much as I want to complain the truth is I wasn't made for this. I wasn't made for this existence - for trying to solve the same problems that I've had forever. Really, what more can I do? I just want to...
Stop repeating myself. |
| | Posted 7/4/2009 1:08 AM - 1 View - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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