Almost Lovely, Almost Nothing
by:
Seneca
Myself disintegrated, everyone disintegrated, yet part of the scheme. How long must this exist, how long must it endure. It's nice to know there's still some debauchery going on. Call it what you want, its your decision forget about music, forget about words, this is fashion. I hope everything this world holds for you, I hope it withers away into dust. And I hope everything this world holds for you, I hope it fades. I will write you in one liners, I will trace you in one line phrases.