Someone left in march. The first one was in august
16 and a half years ago.
Two sides of one coin.
Different ideas of the same dream.
I guess no one wins in the end.
We stay and keep asking the same questions,
Knowing that not a single person has an answer worth noting.
Somewhere in the west village she saw my apartment, two lamps that never really found a home.
Now they’re up there somewhere fighting about some nonsense that never really mattered anyway.
At least they’re talking.