why don't you be the writer and decide the words I'll say

You wait for a silence
I wait for a word
Lying next to your frame
Girl unobserved
You change your position
You're changing me
Casting these shadows
Where they shouldn't be

We're interrupted

By the heat of the sun
Trying to prevent
What's already begun
You're just a body
I can smell your skin
And when I feel it
You're wearing thin

But I've got a plan

Why don't you be the artist
And make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer
Decide the words I say?
Cause I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask
Won't you try to help me?

Sat on your sofa

It's all broken springs
This isn't the place for
Those violin strings
I try out a smile
And I aim it at you
You must have missed it
You always do


But I've got a plan

Why don't you be the artist
And make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer
Decide the words I say?
Cause I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask
Won't you try to help me?






ärligt talat. nu är det massiv existensiell identitetskris på gång här. jag känner det som att jag håller på att upplösas och explodera snart. jag vet inte vad fan jag ska göra, vad som händer eller nånting. för GÄVLIGT som min älskade lillesyster skulle sagt...




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