Lawrence Arms (The). Ghost Stories. All The Week. Zeneszám

misleading utterings shadow boxer right hook mood swings my endurance test i coughed and bled and caught my breath tender in a burning sense the way we spoke when we were silent repressed in living scenes black and white like old t.v.s screens front porch confessional bottled feelings finally smashed against the wall this is the virus sitting in silence armed with expression with vague misconceptions came to me in a bleeding dream on filtered avenues of light blue serenity turned red angrily thought provoking in a distant tense a perfect paragraph of broken narrative these dusty floors don't seem to come clean anymore i'm watered down evaporated from the ground connections faltering dehydrated when the phone rings