wmp: jays of clay, sing.
at a hundred kilometres per hour, the engine revs hard. its almost nostalgic; this constant familiar hue of orange from every one of these nights.
semi-concentrated on holding down the strings to a tiresome f chord, this conversation with a brother devoids me on this lonesome morning. it was elucidating at some point.
whatever that will happen, will happen, i guess.
its 4am.
let me dream.
Labels: friends, go5, nightlife, nostalgia, sleep