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Inspired And The Sleep
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Peripherals
This conversation I have in my head.
Perpetually spins till the day that I'm dead.
You can never escape the words as they fall.
An endless display that means nothing at all.
So caught up with all that's in.
Front of us even though.
None of it is real.
Factual constraints of time and space.
A mirror you made to stare at a face.
Now there's never enough time on your hands.
Watch as it slips from a warm pile of sand.
So caught up with all that's in.
Front of us even though.
None of it is real.
So caught up with all that's in.
Front of us even though.
None of it is real.
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