Kyte Follow

Sometimes the smoke, is alive with control,
And the poison in the conversation turns, our roles,
Awake with the hope, of a new day new ropes,
But the language takes no prisoners or hearts, of their own.

And now, I fold, this home,
To make believe the ways to be alone.

I thought this with my eyes closed, soon enough,
I'll be towering high,
We came straight from the nightlife, no sentiment,
Once we learn how to spy.

Breaking your mold, it's the curse of the cold,
Where the shadows meet the history, it blurs to unknown,
Sinking through soil, to the six foot reserve,
Hold your breath before the windows fill,
With faces from the old.

And now, I fold, this home,
To make believe the ways to be alone.

I thought this with my eyes closed, soon enough,
I'll be towering high,
We came straight from the nightlife, no sentiment,
Once we learn how to spy.

I thought this with my eyes closed, soon enough,
I'll be towering high,
We came straight from the nightlife, no sentiment,
Once we learn how to spy.