the vines and the trash of life
Now you’re gone, and it’s hotels and whiskey and sad-luck dames
And I don’t care if they miss me, I never remember their names
They say if you get far enough away, you’ll be on your way back home
Well, I’m at the station, and I can’t get on the train
Must be blind love, only kind of love is stone blind love
Blind love, the only kind of love is stone blind love
With your blind love, oh it’s blind love, stone blind love
It’s your stone blind love
-tom waits
ps- it all goes to shit in the end.
Eat a cucumber, make it tangy.
Posts
A pile of broken memories, memories of something that existed… once.
All things have a history, and some are great one’s. Every moment is like a circle each day of life we do the same things with a little extra, but is the over and over again we do, and we use things and trash them after, and it goes on and on.
a circle