Take what you've got, take comfort, in that everything you know, or seen will soon be a non existent dot.
Who'll save the world that claims there is no saving? An illusion or delusion of grandeur. Half of what I
say is bliss, the other half is meaningless. Comfortable lines. Wating for the clock to heal us. Lost and
found, but neer touched. Another beating heart is lost: Interesting lies. Waiting for the clock to heal us.
Alone in our rooms, miserable, a tornado or an owl, come back and isolate the balance. Nothing is
real; your heart on your sleeve, just another lie, transcend the pride, oh the chemicals. Take your time,
nothingness is something and something is nothing