The rest of my days, will be just another followed by another,
the wind of the days Cascades and erodes me, leaving body worn and torn, diseased and ravaged, despicable and grotesque.
I'm not ill, but i feel I'm dying, maybe i am ill?, maybe I'm crying, i cant see anything thats around me, everything shrouded in darkness, its not the same world as before, and who done it, who can i blame for putting there hands over my eyes, theres too many hands, too many names, too many too blame, but how about me, i have the only hand i can feel, the only hand i can see, but where would i start, where could i, my fragility too fragile too question, I'm scared id just break if i accused my own wrong doings, yet opposing that, seamlessly thats all i ever do, so in turn, too ease the pain it seems until I'm blue, il blame all of you.
