Subdued by heavy thoughts sinking through and I propose its just the rain that's out of view,
I sleep through bells and morning dew, sunrise and dreams that can be made come true
I turn lazily, eyes closed, amazingly still trying slightly to follow through,
Maybe it's the wine, I'm fine, maybe I drank a handful of a few
The night is far to dark to take a apart and puzzle it to pieces
I'm scattered through subjective memory and someone else's psychology thesis
But I'm a fool for the song playing all night long, a wrong look across the scene
An encounter with a mean mugging feen familiar to the deed of drinking more than she needs
Maybe my mirror so playfully thoughtless I give in to taking another try
The glass is not yet empty and I'm not even that light
Follow my feet I'm back on the beat slightly slurred and indiscreet
Blurred by lights half past and incomplete, I'm window seat, eyes closed and made for my sheets
I concede to the notion set by rooms spinning in motion by my devotion
Another night left behind defined and designed by a little too much wine
~PsyqSol
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