Find me here.
Where real waste gathers.
Rubbing up against filth.
A wealth of nothing.
An empty canvas waiting for colour.
Searching the crowd for something that resonates,
but all I find are seekers of temporary highs.
All this façade.
Shiny lips on inebriated vessels.
The show must go on...
but whose the audience?
The rhythm tries hard to penetrate my aura,
but I choose an empty corner to write my peace.
A butterfly stuck in the tunnel
Ultraviolet lights.
Ultraviolet lights.
Flash.
Funny when it don't feel right and you do it anyway.
How many hits to the heart does it take to get you awake?
Don't be resilient to truth.
The light you're searching for doesn't shine here.
Know it.
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