Chaos and wrackage...
Coping with the moments as they trickle by too slow.
I have a dream, a plan, a hope. For travel and freedom, and the smell of hot, oiled iron. The sun baking down on texas asphalt, and a hundred hungry runs to soft and waiting eyes.
I want to fly, and burn, and run.
I miss the feel of alive.
Coping with the moments as they trickle by too slow.
I have a dream, a plan, a hope. For travel and freedom, and the smell of hot, oiled iron. The sun baking down on texas asphalt, and a hundred hungry runs to soft and waiting eyes.
I want to fly, and burn, and run.
I miss the feel of alive.
I know, I know, we all feel this way, but there's a particular hunger you feel when you can see your desire from a distance, but not quite touch it, or even know that someday you will. It's an almost sensual anticipation; poised on the razor's edge between frustration and desire.
Or maybe it's just been awhile since I anticipated something good.
Looking back on this comment, it really looks like I'm talking about something else.
That's funny.