Серенада струнных в уютной гостиной

Stone bathroom. Thin ice skin. Neon buzzing through the stone. Crack paper calling. Might be the bone. But the night may follow where I'm still alone. I'm still polite. I'm still belonged. Every ghost still feeds in stone. Street lamps burning, But not its days. I thought the long was gone, but it still Graze. I'm the breathe and the dust and. I'm just the falling sky. Gliding to the ceiling. I remember right. Cowering shadows, don't belong. The days return, I'm still along. Pavers rolling soft and slow. I'm empty here when the dust winds blow. I see the bridges coming. I don't always stay. I feel the pull beneath. I'm just in. The storm is calling backward. My mind is full of pain. Even though I've lost the trace Of my self-pain. I'm the breathe and the dust and. I'm just the falling sky. Gliding to the ceiling. I remember right. The night was hard beneath the stone. The night was broken, blaze its dome. And every day an ocher burst and feel. This dust, it burns. Still the breathing, still the-