Riding in the backseat of a misunderstanding, tuning out the screaming by gazing out the window at the stars, all the distant city lights...
In here, the air stings
Trampled needs resurrecting
Outside: the quiet
seventeen syllables
Riding in the backseat of a misunderstanding, tuning out the screaming by gazing out the window at the stars, all the distant city lights...
In here, the air stings
Trampled needs resurrecting
Outside: the quiet