The sudden realization that not all is what it seems
Rises somehow exponentially It turns from a cry into a wail
Then a scream and then a howl An endless broken dull soliloquy
There's only so much left that one can burn
And now I find I'm dancing 'round the ashes of the bridges that I've burned
I take nothing from the lessons that I've learned
And how is one supposed to mourn if one is not entirely sure what has died?
And if it's dead why can't I cry?
I discovered matt elliott three years ago and my life has never been the same since.
