Everything bought was in red.
Just removed the anchor that supported my weight
I use to be light here, in the air
A pollen drifting to the nearest
Branch of the earth...
Land is a endless display of his work...
I try to request a sentiment to hold in my hands
Maybe just an old record
Reach into the box...
Give me the first thing that you take.
Nature; a quiet resting place, for me to call out my indifference's
It hurts, sometimes so much so...
There's no air to breathe.
What is persistent, is the sorrow
All around me, miles away, above
Stand tall, don't look down...
It's buried furthermore
A broken timepiece anyhow.