fredag 4 maj 2012
Vill kura ihop mig till en liten, liten boll. Ligga så tills jorden börjar snurra normalt igen.
You've been living awhile in the front of my skull, making orders.
You've been writing me rules, shrinking maps,
and redrawing borders.
I've been repeating your speeches, but the audience just doesn't follow.
Because I'm leaving out words, punctuations, and it sounds pretty hollow.
I've been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep.
I've been hiding my voice and my face and you decide when I eat.
In your dreams I'm a ciminal, horrible, sleeping around.
While you're awake I'm impossible, constanly letting you down.