Getting ready

Of course is it happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?



They'll name a city after us:)







I'll recover if you want me to. Dig my way out of my black mood. Wait for the sun to fade.
You hide your time, so well. Small scars of love, and hate, and happiness. You hide your scars, so well.
And nothing matters anymore.













When the whispers have painted pictures that make you doubt what you once believed in
Paper stories that hide the Glory to keep us searching
through smoke