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Itâs a slow death waking off the road. Endless highway lines pass the time.
You only think about it when youâre back home.
Never going back. Never turn around.
Whatâs in front of the headlights is fidelity. You only think about it when youâre back home.
Lovesick for a memory
our city still holds. Our city
holds a dead end road.
People that you never see without confronting.
People without reason â words with no concession.
Losing sleep â stationary, still. Sweating it out over nothing. You are stuck on some shit that just wonât come unstuck.
You canât think of it to make sense of it. Struggling to focus. Donât get stuck on this.
Losing what we had.
Living what we lost.
Breathing empty words.
Leaving restless nights back home.
- Album:
- Blame & Aging