The trail of disappointment is long. A cursed expedition.
Reversing course, my soul is coarse.
Locked inside a cage, collecting dirt under the back porch.
Wild as the wind, not born to be tamed. I want to be the mandolin that Nina craved.
I don't know if I'm out of time or just too comfortable.
What have I got to lose? What if I'm held accountable?
What if I'm too safe?
Why am i so confined when my echos can't find an end in outer space?
I don't like people because they're not human.
My field is barren. No fucks blooming.
I hear an out of key piano and the Earth's core is fuming.
If i could spread my wings and fly I'd just sit and watch it die.
I traverse cursed expeditions through hurricane's eyes.
My course lost its value in the wind's deepening sigh.
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