we become violent and useless rhythms
we'd like to be used by you or her in order to grow up into babies.
these kids are made of chalk.
color variety slip over your mind.
occasionally, they taste all the same,
family unites in death but death tears us apart.
we set free but freedom never feels the same.
we're crazy people
walkin around love
sketchin lines between oceans
drawin women in leather & men undead.
it's amazing how unimportant our words are when it comes to love.
so tell me,
should i pretend i can talk
or should i breathe a little more of you?