I always wanted to portray that sense
of thudding speakers, like I had the whole
album on replay in my already
vast mind. I'd be perfect for the bass, heavy
and rattling the very center of the
Earth with no effort shown at all. Dazzling
lights of New York City blind my vision
as my album is set on repeat; I
have the suspicion I'll need the theme on
continuous blast behind the stained glass
windows to my soul. Pretty, but only
for show, unless you have the commitment
and true devotion, you won't ever see
the real side of them. "Such a shame." you shook
your head and I let my heart beat along
with the ending of every song I'd come
to know, all the lyrics and bridges start
suddenly making sense. This is what I
had been searching for, and found. You are not
Mercury with quicksilver, but you are
Mars, with the tendency to feel such wrath.
Can you see the obvious lack of your
so-called "pity" in my eyes? Isn't that
the answer you craved? Maybe, it is dear.
(Syllable again. I like syllables, gives me some type of form.)
