A call, a talk, a moment in creation – all awhile she resounds right by this immediate need
To feel pretty darn much everything
Wrought-iron within She – the Killer Queen of Evil aside violent forethought really ought to take one too many three steps aback
Matter, the bare-naked glare of that ferociously pressed fact
B-a-c-k, please, and with singular ease. See it, feel it, motherf*cking f-r-e-e it, soliloquy in thee. Begin to believe
In him again, because you barely even gave him a chance to dance whilst your descriptively stressed eyes were narrowed down upon his very own bare-naked page – a differing, deafening, dilapidated kind of a sage altogether and resounds nowhere near-in
The r-e-a-l He. Falsified this living, seething, fictional case of star-studded rage, stream-of-conscience tapes-tried ease
Simply mysteriously played til deliriously, deliciously drenched in reckless, vivacious rhythm yet again. Purposefully misbehaving. Saving this meandering need by the buckle of your musically instrumented feet
He simply misses you – don’t you miss him, too? Please, see it all for its whole ultimate worth in the wide wondrous, early-doors world on out everywhere
Seems you want to be a kid again and that is okay, most of the time… see, so do I.
Give yourself that b-r-e-a-k for one first time, baby girl… finally.