Coming home throw my leather jacket on the floor, drink a cup of coffee through a book...
Ooh there is no one to spit on, except the little dirty picture on the wall.
On the screen it's very hard for me to see through the haze of dying children, dying children, dying children.
Grab a pen, try to draw a silly picture of a brain, hoping that my own look better, but it's all just bits of paper and I am getting nowhere.
This is just a very weak expression of how I felt that wooden windy wednesday, windy wednesday, windy wednesday.
I wanna do a masterpiece today.
Paint pictures of the moments passed away.
Put colours on the word I like to say.
On the brush there's a tiny yellow colour remain, but I ain't gonna give up on this now.
I'll paint a sun from floor to ceiling, gonna make sure that it's blinding.
This is just a very weak expression of how I felt that wooden wendy wednesday, windy wednesday, windy wednesday.
I wanna do a masterpiece today.
Paint pictures of the moments passed away.
Put colours on the words I like to say