If MC Escher were alive today…
My conscience drifts, and sleeps in shifts,
trading off between my open hand and swinging fists.
This alcohol, my wrecking ball,
keeps me talking to the angels buried in these walls...
We walk a nightmare line,
Wide awake and dead at the same time.
trading off between my open hand and swinging fists.
This alcohol, my wrecking ball,
keeps me talking to the angels buried in these walls...
We walk a nightmare line,
Wide awake and dead at the same time.
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