I don't know, I feel like falling through the antidesitter hole that I'm slowly burning into my lungs is pretty much the only way I can grant myself the time to find out why I feel like fucking stabbing myself to get a better look at my insides. Which admittedly is a little extreme, but what's a little extremity in a world full of slight of hand self sustenance, hyper-amplified overindulgence and passive despotism? I guess why I can't believe I'm not the bridge of this isosceles is 'cause I've never reached for another to find them reaching back at me.

Where are your friends? I'll help you find them. Who are you to not recoil from my advances? I like you, you ride your luck and take your chances. Now we're dancing, and getting frantic, running through fields full of love tinged semantics. I'll hold your gaze but don't tell me your name, the last thing we want is to make this romantic. Where are your friends? I'll help you find them. As we do the last of the lines that we drew with the red paint designed for this town, we capture these scenes to enslave in the frames that we recklessly run to the ground. Although we both seem distant, our indifference to our differences is what make us different, but we are alike in the sense I can sense that you're spent with pretending that you didn't come here alone. The brain in your head, the air in your lungs, the voice in your ear that tells you you're not on your own. Where are your friends? I'll help you find them. The part of your brain that puts faces to names, your rational train of thought that stops you from pulling into the lane for estranged and afflicted strangers like us. But something tells you you're safe as long as this doesn't escalate from lust... Fuck. Where are my friends? Please help me find them! Where are your friends? I'll help you find them. We are your friends, we're inside your head.

Born with my head in a mess, well I am still waiting for you, or anyone, or anything to give me an explanation as to why I should recognise this as a world that I should pull my own weight in when I have tied my skateboard to this car, and my wheels are not shaking, I'm fine. There will be some rocks on this road but I am fair at steering just so long as you remain my driving force. I wish that I could pull you back but I am on my knees and if I try to stand, I will fall. You are my strength all while I am your weakness, I know you dig deep 'cause I'm buried beneath this. Don't cry, 'cause I'm fine, as okay as I ever was and we will switch places in time. I ask myself, who crafted this script and cast us all into the midst of this? Have I the strength to turn a new page, can we not return to the scenes we miss? This is all live, we must improvise, and realise that after this break of routine, of normality, of hearts: the curtains are going to rise. It's hard to see the point of this compass when someone who did so right has too soon left, but the shapes of these hands are reminders that there is much of this journey to go on yet so I do not despair the departure of my most comforting constant. I do not rue this ruin, I do not curse that I was cursed. I rejoice everything that I recall, I recognise I was in fact blessed. And I bare these memories as fuel for the fire inside of me that will never rest. I don't trust their god, the one thing I believe in is we'll go on and on, even a man down we are as one. Blood, bound, joined, lost, shed, shared.

Well we said, when he's dead we'll take what we have and we'll just get out of here and throw onto the fire the future the past has presented us, 'cause we can dream if nothing else. These paths are parallel and these crossroads intertwine. We're spiralling to the embers of redemption, in purgatory's observatory, where we judge each other's past, but can this last before one of us surprises with uprising? Is this love or is this stupor sex on super-mephe-keta-methamphetamine? Is this all I am, just part of a plan? Is this in vain? Am I to gaze upon the summit of the worthy from the eyes of the plain? This can't be why I'm really here. This can't be why I'm really here. This can't be why I'm really here. This isn't why I'm really here.