Like the sound of drums beating in our hearts, misunderstood like flickering lights, to be morse code for those of us lost in the dark.
People aren't out to harm you, honey.
They just look out for themselves,
But they'll come back for you if you cry out for help.
Litter lines these streets like worn out hearts and
Broken limousines,
Of parties once had and
Memories once seen.
Instead pictures help us reminisce,
Remember,
Repicture,
Because we're helpless to time,
Which makes us forget.
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