you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines

and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain. you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain.

you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney \ of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain.

you are the reason my heart is worn. when everything you can name is abandoned. when names referring to birds cannot roam. pity the birds; desolation is begging you. this is how nothing is. my chest. my mouth calling your name. across the air, the dusts silently feeling the moon, the rain, the silence. these houses, this ghost, will remain.

you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney \ of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain.

you are my heart when everything is abandoned. when names cannot roam you. nothing is calling your name: the dusts. the moon. the rain. these remain.

you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney \ of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain.

you are everything names cannot call. your name. the rain. these remain.

you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney \ of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain.

you cannot call the rain: remain

you are the beginning, the reason why this house i call my heart is now crawling with vines and worn out with termites. this is how the city feels like when left by everything it has until you can no longer name it a city. and in what point is the city called abandoned? when storms hold more names than the phonebooks referring to the place. when birds cannot even roam above the airspace out of pity. when the birds are tired of desolation that they experience pity. this is not me begging you to come back. this is me reporting how nothing is ever the same. how the hearth in my chest became nothing else than cold greying bricks. how the chimney \ of my mouth cough out the soot calling your name across the air. how the dusts settle to the ground silently. how i am feeling more alone than the moon. no wind ever blows here anymore, not even the rain. in the silence looming these houses in this ghost town, nothing will remain.

you remain.