I stopped feeling sunlight on the backs of my arms, started thinking too much about dying under the same Midwest stars. I don’t feel anything in the dead cold of the night. I’d give anything to stay sleep until the end of time. There’s no such thing as a victory. It’s out of the question, cure worse than the disease. Despicable reality. Colorless, nondescript days on repeat. Second rate viability. The weight of desolation. No good fortune, only defeat. End of all things hangs over me. The weight of desolation.
Гуру Песен