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A kite is a fish that you have already caught.
In a pool where no fish come from.
Is the sky it's own god?
My hands are for holding
other peoples hands. not loading
Up those machine guns. Or holding
A weapon. Find me folding,
Up my laundry so I have
Some thing clean to wear to school.
Cuz I remember in the past,
Being out of clean clothes, that's not cool.
And I don't got much to tell you bout my past cuz it's a fable
And the story it's boring and to be honest I'm unable
To open up and tell something resembling the truth
I mean I seem to get a reaction when I say I was abused
But trading lies for looks on faces makes itself a waste of space.
And gaining ties based on made up escapades it makes me faint.
Faint of heart and out of breath and lacking sleep and on the fence
Painting parts that I can reach from my perch here: time we'll spent
A load of laundry could be useful if life is lived in this position
Sinking feelings, Savage beasts, seemingly seeking new traditions
All alone
All alone
All alone till mom gets home
Belaver’s “Trash” builds from hushed verses to a big, booming crescendo of a chorus, with lyrics that praise finding beauty in darkness. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 14, 2018