of Architects
High (What I Thought)
effectively getting through your head(disassembling your bed)it makes me happier to think you're alone(although that's probably not the case at all)turning your presence into poetry(i hope you hear me in every violent breeze)to think that things would play outfine points in the marginsfind plots between the lines andstaying up so many countless nightsto be so calm, cool, collectedso reserved and patientall you ever wanted or atleast that's what i thought.
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