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Description
I'm lackadaisical, whimsical; my pulse has been shot for desertion and I'm not sure where that leaves me. There are more stars in the sky than words in my mind. and the noise of the freight trains at night carries louder than I ever could.

There aren't words.
There aren't words, okay?

The sky is blue and light pollution is orange and the stars are the colour of hope and nuclear reactions. There's really nothing out there though. Just rain and light pollution and normal pollution and pollution of the mind and "where the Hell am I?"

You're going cold.
You're going cold; isn't the Universe doing that too?

I'm running out of time. Time is so short. Time is long too. I need my pulse to tell the beats of the hour but it was shot and hung and drawn and quartered for desertion. It's not right.

You know life has no purpose, right?

Of course.

Would you like me to give it one?

Description
I'm lackadaisical, whimsical; my pulse has been shot for desertion and I'm not sure where that leaves me. There are more stars in the sky than words in my mind. and the noise of the freight trains at night carries louder than I ever could.

There aren't words.
There aren't words, okay?

The sky is blue and light pollution is orange and the stars are the colour of hope and nuclear reactions. There's really nothing out there though. Just rain and light pollution and normal pollution and pollution of the mind and "where the Hell am I?"

You're going cold.
You're going cold; isn't the Universe doing that too?

I'm running out of time. Time is so short. Time is long too. I need my pulse to tell the beats of the hour but it was shot and hung and drawn and quartered for desertion. It's not right.

You know life has no purpose, right?

Of course.

Would you like me to give it one?