We were thirty-eight at seventeen
Here,
We live from cigarette to cigarette.
Elsewhere,
Some of us are fighting wars.
Some of us are jarring bells.
Some of us are collecting shells.
The rest of us are sleeping,
dreaming about everything.
We would get up,
We would cry help
But our pillows are scented
With bedspreads of one-million-thread-count Egyptian cotton.
My God
We are almost rotten.
It's so hard to see the top from the bottom.
We could cry help.
We would get up.
But we are already forty-something.
and I think we've forgotten.
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do you ever feel like time is running out?
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Comments
--
in the end, only kindness matters.
[link]
I was having a discussion about exactly how much Western society has changed in the last 50 odd years.
We are all very spoiled, really. And we despise it, but we don't want to get up. I don't really, either.
--
Hide the past!
--
lex
--
Hide the past!
more every day
make sense tho'
these are the signs of interesting times...
once again, impressive...
and these nostra damus (or however-the-fuck-u-spell-it) prophecies/mayan calendars arent much comfort
We've got 4 years to live it up
--
"Yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers
But all that lives is born to die
And so I say to you that nothing really matters
And all you do is stand and cry"
--
Check this out: ~MusicIsOurReligion ~ColourCult
wow is it really 4?
--
lex
--
"Yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers
But all that lives is born to die
And so I say to you that nothing really matters
And all you do is stand and cry"
--
Check this out: ~MusicIsOurReligion ~ColourCult
she is the buddha
--
lex
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