Tryin’a feel free. Call it high, outside’s hell boy. So much stronger when the mix is right. Don’t stop me now.
Tryin’a feel free. Call it high, outside’s hell boy. So much stronger when the mix is right. Don’t stop me now.
Manic and motivated. Can’t figure it. So desperate for a story. Starving for the north.
The young boy, now a man, sits in dread of imagined threats, and bemoans his station.
There’s no bird in the sky. None perched here. Not one over there. No chirp, tweet or song. Neither and nothing.
