In my head there's a Greyhound station, where I send my thoughts to far-off destinations...so they may have a chance of finding a place where they're far more suited than here.
Stars light the sky in a galaxy of emptiness tonight.
All that burns is the candle, and the fog melts over the night...it softens the edges, I begin to write.
Heaven holds a sense of wonder...and I wanted to believe that I'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides. In this white wave I am sinking, in this silence. In this white wave, in this silence, I believe.
On a sunny afternoon, made of something light as nothing, made of joy that matters too...How the little dreams we dream are all we can really do.
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