Fish are falling from the sky.
Into puddles they fall, to dine inside my walls.
Typically my memory revolves on a winding white paper ball.
She opens up her palm blossom, from where you're caught in.
It's just what you want: to get stuck and see all on my VCR.
My dreams are turning up blank.
I'm down at the bottom of your enemy's casket for show.
Coming down from the road, throws the dirt from under the rug.
No more connection where you are on my VCR.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI