I can’t sleep, but I don’t mind. Cos every second in a dream is a waste of time. I’d rather be, awake and tired. So I can see you with these worn-out eyes of mine. -
It seems we both understand, That rolling stones slowly turn into sand. Be it the desert or beach, Separate grains have different places to be. So we go… So we leave… We strip the walls of our chapel, Sistine dreams watered down to a handful. And as the crossroad approaches, Silently we plan the path we have chosen. Different ways… but nothings changed… I...