Read Time:21 Second
Your heart is always almost beating
along with windy frozen tunes.
But you say youve laughed enough,
your closets stuffed with last years blues.
But you know by summertime your suicides just last years news.
What will we find inside of your room?
Notes in the margins,
records always spinning.
Clues you know you want all to know
your little soul grew old too soon
and surprises lost their thrill.