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• Artiste: Hot Cross
• Titre: Fortune Teller
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Caught cutting through the running tide. Bleeding out; portrayed way past a prime tripping over words and playing tricks on time. Eastern standard time of the dead. Wear clocks round our necks like tombstones. Fuck not lest ye be fucked. A point invariably moot when you've outgrown smarts and frustration is your strongest suit. Keep in mind, it's the wisest man that will always be told to foret his ego for a minute and realize that he can't replace his ass just because he found a crack in it. (26 years past my prime as if minutes made a difference) And How can we sit so still when it's so hard (Like ostriches with heads in sand we fear our desires.) so hard to find what you loved (Breathe every breath like it wasn't a countdown) to find what you felt in that touch? (Breathe every breath like it wasn't a countdown) And How can I go searching for these days when I'm standing among them? Rhetorical wisdom is a locked door a lost chance and all you'll ever see a statement betrayed like your worst enemy. Breathe every breath like it wasn't a countdown. Can't change a mind lost to the hours held so dear, can't force your way out of a dream purchased with fear.