Some days I walk down amongst the chlorophyll drained corpses and I wonder if you are by my side. I can only imagine the air, older than you and I leaving our lungs further and further for the last time. I look into your eyes, not asking what you've done, where the last drop landed. I take a second step backward, a glance to steal, to take every single one. You and I were put here to create. So lets burn this canvas and get another bottle. Fuck the progress, its just another channel. We all want substance but we're way to hollow. Going down dancing, legs breaking, limbs flailed in each direction. The air we breath is old, but this world is older. The plants change, as the seasons colder.
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