the wheel is turning but the brakes are burned out. It'll crash at the end of it's run and leave no sound,
no ghost, no lively imprint.
Just a few dead scattered bits lining the dismal concrete. We say we won't sell our bodies but then we go forth to sell our souls. One idea after the next shoots from your long dried out lips until you're faking it.
Choking on the sugar coated words as you spit them out. You're really just stalling for one moment more, one moment more.
Choking on the sugar coated words as you spit them out. You're really just stalling for one moment more, one moment more.
Until the moment you crash, just like the deceased wheel. Your crashing and the brakes are burned out so you find your self without an escape.
You collide.
No scream, no sound, no shout.
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