In my time of dying all I've grown to be
english can't define these feelings
I keep waiting
There's a strange time called trying that's vague like us
I can always try harder which means I never try enough

My mind is always crying
concentration, saturation
An aquaintance is so naive
or just a blind soul

fifty and a month
is so long for some

Understanding becomes my snair
the harder I struggle, the more confined I become
does quanity stop at empty
does quanity stop with you?

fifty and a month
is just a blink for me

fifty and a month