i do not love. - memorial | Текст песни

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• i do not love.
• memorial

it's not divine sense,
it's brittle hair twitching
to redeem the high esteem
for which i have been itching.

again, the pillow is in front of the door,
to soften the blow of forming lore.


if only clarity would grace
the most pained with a kiss
of insight to assuage the plight
of all that has since gone amiss (everything.)

again, my dear cushion is upon the floor,
damming out the world for the pursuit of pleasure
in a solitary form.

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