I"ve grown tired of holding this pose

the future 

I feel more like a stranger each time I come home
So I"m making a deal with the devils of fame
Saying "let me walk away, please"
You"ll be free child once you have died
From the shackles of language and measurable time
And then we can trade places, play musical graves
Till then walk away, walk away

letras: Bright eyes

Clicked by Nikon FM2n on April 24th, 2006, 16:28 by salamandrine