fearies are dead

strange intoxication
i should stay quiet
there’s a vision in my head that
can never slip away

it smells like cocain and cheap perfume
the streets are dirty
people are fishy and disenchanted
and here i am, twisting
hopeless and born without searching
the fearies are dead, all suicide
and they close the doors


blehh. i dunno, ask me if it really bother you.