• The skittering of simple little bugs
    The gentle wafting of spring air
    The sweet morning dew
    The bustling of the streets and all the Bodies
    Might as well be ghosts or phantoms
    Just fading embers of the prospective people the might have been
    The crisp sound of dried leave
    The gentle sun setting over a sea of red and orange
    The weight of this town pressing down
    The gravity here just wont ever let me down gently
    This time though I will escape
    With my hand I will clutch the sky
    With my boot I will crush this place
    Leaving only ruins of what never really was
    I mean besides this is all just a dream
    A simple little dream that I just cant seem to wake up from….