The Wind by John Newman
Everything's dead.
Every morning, I wake up and go outside.
Dead grass and grey trees are everywhere;
The wind chilling my spine as my
mind focuses on the depressing snow.
I see a singular girl, standing there in the ash.
Her tears flowing like a river down her face,
her wrist cut with the razor blade on the ground beside her.
Every morning, I think about it all;
The sadness and cruelty in this god forsaken world.
I think about the depression and anger in her eyes;
They sway me.
My mind runs a billion miles an hour,
My mind runs a billion miles an hour,
My mind runs a billion miles an hour.
Every day it's the same.
I want to rinse her tears in my kindness,
and cleanse her wounds in my hugs and kisses.
Her broken heart mending as I love.
Love.
love.
What is love?
Does it flow like my mind,
In powers by the hours,
My brain can't take control of the emotion
running a billion,
running a million,
running a thousand,
running a hundred,
running.
The wind wisps me to the bus stop,
and I start my way class,
I do nothing for the girl.
I just flow with the wind.
