The sky is gray again.
The wind makes me wonder what's wrong.
I walk home thinking of you.
Your whispers.
Your songs.
They sing the symphony of mortem.
They speak to me in tongue.
They reach for me and caress my broken soul.
You speak to me.
Cut deeper.
Hide it away.
Don't change, don't bend, and don't break.
Pick up that razor.
And love yourself.
Love your self forever.
Show your emoshun.
