everything tied up with strings in my hands.
bring it on quicker; this is an ephemeral stance.
it's easy waving wands and to honey on the words. conjure up a miracle, a flock of sunlit birds.
but to expect a real cure would be quite absurd.
i'm one-fourth farfetching idealism and three-fourths of lowdown overdramatics. see you on the slipslide ride.
