I walked by the street of tomorrow..
and dropped a coin of sorrow.
Those little things...
Lead her to her make-believe world.
How could she be so somnolent?
And barely sees anything
Not any longer...
And until now, she still speculates...
Where did those little things left?
Paralyzed
Of working too hard for it
Of hoping too much of it
Of being restive without it
Phony
There’s no such thing as that
Fright is what portrays you certainly
Fright of lost and lone
I know
I feel it as well