overflown with little lies
made up – fucked up
perfection of it
makes him suspicious
day in day out
everybody is running from a to b
from here to there
the sad thing about this is the fact that they walk aimlessly
a run away – a circle – a drowning hand from behind
too slow to notice
and when all this is going on,
comparisons to the others will be drawn
so he pulls himself back
stress step back
trying to keep those moments
dissolve like sand in the hands
daily grind edges him away from the center
«how will i keep my memories? foreseen tragedy»
those lines he read, they will fade away
this picture he’s holding in his hand,
he dreams away
the ones who predict darkened days
are the ones who have lost their selves
and he learned that some turned away
before the glamorous fall
so he pulls himself back
stress step back
trying to keep those moments
dissolve like sand in the hands
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