venerdì 22 maggio 2015
Fly on a Windshield
There's something solid forming in the air
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square
No one seems to care
They carry on as if nothing was there
The wind is blowing harder now
Blowing dust into my eyes
The dust settles on my skin
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway...
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