jimmer

This quiet place seems livelier than before. The breeze goes through your place. It tells me. The wind it goes through your hair, and the door is wide open. We all wish, this to be a terminal place, except I have to say, the moods set.
The bars are, packed tight, the streets they hold up. The tourists and all. Weve measured out our strides, is one more move too false? As the moon comes down, its time to call out, and wish this to be a terminal place. Better things have become, and Im glad, and Im glad, and Im glad, that I got burnt, (it hurts) in this summers sun.
A never-ending memory in this quiet town that we once shared. Were never leaving. Im never leaving, we have left.



Whoever controls the past:- Delano