For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust, I might have given that trust away to the friend I thought I had made in the house at the end of the street. A wizard and I the witch of East End we appeared to be.
Everyone is talking, There are tongues in the trees and everyone is talking. With or without repentance the spirit of our foolish deeds will haunt us. It is the strange fate of man. Some unknown paths you have got there, run, hide under your blankets it will not be long before the talking tongues catch up and devour your being. The reality is, nobody has it easy, and at some point your bright lights will turn off and you will find yourself in the comfort of strangers seeking for blood in the salty sea but I will not be anywhere near cause by then I would have metamorphosised into the 21st Century "Julius Caesar". Oh no, Brotus, I will be nowhere near when the "haters" you tend to blabber about start shattering the silence.
It is not my desire to try and convey a message, I am only telling a story, why this particular story? I know not.
"True Colours" Your face full of lies.
Remember of how we sat and told eachother it will last forever?
Well, friend, forever departed yesterday, I am afraid if we spoke again, it will be too soon.
Invisible signs, Hush sounds, Ashes and. . . Ends
