things I have been thinking about
Step On
She can not say what's on her mind,
everytime,
because she's lost in her dead dreamer's paradise,
where the red wandering stranger's heart rhymes.
I rhyme.
I'm out far in this too.
The yellow crooked road that walks on top of our shoes,
has torn holes in my head, holes in you, holes.
We believe in these colors,
more than the stones that we step on.
everytime,
because she's lost in her dead dreamer's paradise,
where the red wandering stranger's heart rhymes.
I rhyme.
I'm out far in this too.
The yellow crooked road that walks on top of our shoes,
has torn holes in my head, holes in you, holes.
We believe in these colors,
more than the stones that we step on.
