there's a world around me and it responds to my touch.
at every pressure point remains a ghost of your limbs.
oh!
my breath is the wind,
it allows me to crumble to leaves and blow away.
struggling to attach any pressure to all this empty weight,
to create some sort of permanence under such violent waves.
at every pressure point remains a ghost of your limbs.
oh!
my breath is the wind,
it allows me to crumble to leaves and blow away.
struggling to attach any pressure to all this empty weight,
to create some sort of permanence under such violent waves.