Perfect Future
In Hopes
with a pen held tight in the palm of my hand,I let ink spill like spit,in hopes of some sort of genius accidentally spilling out.with a pick held loosely I strum strings which produce notes I've already heardin hopes of stumbling across the chords that brush past hearts to produce thoughts.but there are no words left in me.but there are no chords left in me.so let's manufacture inspirationbecause if all i have is you.if all I have is you then I have all I need.
From Letras Mania