at the first sign of life that makes it up these walls and the motions of my verbs are rising with the swells
and the politics of thieves I'm tired of the skyscrapers and I want to feel the breeze I want my name to waltz right off their tongues like a secret they can't keep
at the first sign of life that makes it up these walls and the motions of my verbs are rising with the swells
I want to go where foreign words bear the weight of gold and there are beaches whiter than aspen snows
we've been landlocked for so long our cardinal points are all off
I can travel the world in second hand (grant me wings where my shoulder blades reside) More from The Prospero Collapse