no title
Smoke will come one day
And overcome everything
By then I won’t be a man anymore
For most of you, I might not have even been.
But I will be sitting by the side of the road,
By the side of the road,
By the side of the road I will be telling stories.
I will be reciting lives of those who once were dreaming of
enough uncertainty to overcome reality.
To prove words still drank alcohol inspite of books, and
bodies still poured pleasure inspite of fashion.
There will be no negotiations;
I will either consist of color or I shall vanish
By will, by choice, by shade.
