There are so many concepts to love, and I don’t even understand a single one.
It’s not hard to sustain acting aloof, but for me and you I know I’m not bulletproof.
And neither are you, you’re just like me.
Lost in thought about the lives we could be living, this life of mine where it feels that what's made of ice is my bones.
Why are there so many questions that own no answers? It’s a delicate thought to conceptualise alone.
In this world, in this vision, and in this perception, everyone has no purpose, we’re all here by accident.
Every new era brings on all new calamities.
Is it you, the one, with the happy sweet family?
I trust that you know how much pointlessness you’re made of?
Just from me, and every family, and every other somebody.
I’m sorry that this is who you are, for if you hurt I hurt with you but from afar.
And although I don't know you or how you hurt, at least I can say I hurt with you and not worse.
And I give the s