Tekster: Shook Ones. Sixteen. Jersey Beach Pail.

Does this city have any limits? Is its grid beyond control? Like a mold this city grows across an area I used to call my home. Trees replaced by structures, starry skies replaced by lights. If I didn?t have my ties I wouldn?t spend another night. You should see how small we really are, how small we are. Don?t forget that. Like the whitish streak of a jet gone by, something once was there I loved. But, for now ill watch this ice as it forms on this glass as I know. I?m off to better places