been staying up way too late again. trying to sort it out. tracing all the lines back to origins. been keeping track of of everything. and eive been keeping track again. and everything seems to glaring to me. so tonight im stepping outside for what feels like the thousandth time. walking with hands in my pockets, looking down the same old streets. this place can become a part of you, whether or not you want it to. and everyone i know is keeping to themselves and everyone i know is trying really hard to grow and to change. and im not keeping up.
so tonight im stepping outside wishing that it could be the last time. ill stare at these same old streets, wet pacement under me and you never notice the days getting shorter. you never notice how it all can change. but it does becasue in the mirror sheen of these slick streets, there i can see a face looking up at me.
i know its the features. i know its a shape. weathered lines trace a story of change, not of being left behind, not a trace of flitter or shine, this is just me. and with this foe i have a love hate past. how come you win every race. fine ill relish what i have today, and then tomorrow ill do the same. the next time, memory crutch staying home. next time i go...
so tonight im stepping outside wishing that it could be the last time. ill stare at these same old streets, wet pacement under me and you never notice the days getting shorter. you never notice how it all can change. but it does becasue in the mirror sheen of these slick streets, there i can see a face looking up at me.
i know its the features. i know its a shape. weathered lines trace a story of change, not of being left behind, not a trace of flitter or shine, this is just me. and with this foe i have a love hate past. how come you win every race. fine ill relish what i have today, and then tomorrow ill do the same. the next time, memory crutch staying home. next time i go...
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