At fist I thought to myself if I could get these valued fruit on my wooden writings they would make them better they remain out of my reach except for two poems I felt
I breath in glass and turn numb as my view of my earth starts to spin eyes slowly turned back within time I look down at the earth spinning watch cartographers attempts to
I listen so hard dive down into my night memory how did the song go not crusader just an angel trying to help a bright colour in a world o=df otherwise grey its ionly knid
Only a breathing and dreaming day and I'm breaming for all I am, do nothing else for a moment or four thinking of you. Dreaming of you, breathing you in hard to believe,