Do Nothing, Bitch.

In verses, visions and vacant spells

I’ll find you alongside the nearest river wishing me well

Stumbling past lonely wishing wells, probably

Some sort of gateway to Hell

Where my thoughts were but coins dropped in one after the other

Never looked upon so much as something that could get better

In bitterness that so badly weathers,

I’m never going to let you down

But you might not ever let me heal

It’s one thing to lie, but I’d rather get real

With our lives growing less elated, further from hope and far too jaded

I’m finding it easy to become everything you hated

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