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DisorderEndless physical pain
Timeless emotional torment
Nobody beside me
So what exactly is the point of all this again?
Inhale/ExhaleExhausting the exasperation
Wet,salty bliss runs down my cheeks
Warmth under hands turns frigid
Demeanor follows suit
Calm in the eye of the storm
Another Wasted WeekendYou tell me again that I'm wrong
That's a siren song
That spews forth from your lie generator
You say I'm the one who left
And yet I'm bereft
Of the comfort that's supposedly family
Another weekend down
But still I'm around
Once again my phone rings not at all
So my sorrow drowns
Beneath the alcohol
My friends wonder if I've had too much
I sit here singing
Sad and absurd songs
Off key and far from the melody
The stress piles on
More secrets for my over burdened head
My hands are shaking again
Is this normal for you?
I'm the one who's so far beyond
Help, it's all I ask
Am I fooling myself?
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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