we ride on the aftermath
as a subtle way of looking past, we neglect our instinct
and we live by the light of day
to alleviate my own dismay i detain the process
and everybody sounds their best
its the highbrow stream of consciousness
in a looming prime
depending on the absence or the distance all the time
love like intuitive alarm
a hail mary or a good luck charm dangled to clasp our interest
and our faith lies in the deprived unknown
you know that no one want to be alone, die young or impure
and everybody sounds their best
its the highbrow stream of consciousness
in a looming prime
depending on the absence or the distance
and its a sad decline
introverted romance in our troubled minds
a trying pine
depending on good fortune or coincidence all the time