be the salt water passing through my open wounds. cold chills in the middle of the night, the light in the dark i can never quite find. hold my hopes high suspended by thin fragile string, cut the cord for the next best thing. and return once a year, only to burn my skin with a lit cigarette. a post it note on the bathroom sink, it said your goodbyes. now i'm washing my hands. now i'm drying my eyes. closing the door, switching off the light. the telephone rings. eight thirty. well, this time you'll get my machine.
- MOOD: mellow
- MUSIC:attack attack!