Here, your pressed to the grass, where trees and towers are all just another system to ignore, as the leaves all swallow up the city you live in. your eyes they move about and stop to take in the scent as you slow down, slow down and we say "you, Iíve stopped to stare at you. Your eyes just seem too dim, and your hands just seem so pale. You, you've stitched up my summer skin, and wearied down my weary heart, and now I need to find, a replacement not as good, but if you do come back, to talk to me and see, how lying on the floor is so cool and clean, I cant seem to fall asleep anywhere anymore". The footsteps are so soft, the breathing is so soft, and we wonder out loud why we were stopped. We crawl quietly into the pavement at night, with your hair in your eyes and dust on your face, but we still manage to come out alive. So you sit at the desk near your window, writing problems and answers in perfect straight lines, looking out at the moon. To not have anything to sleep to, to not have anything to wake up to, your puncturing the paper, your folding your blankets, and walking down the stairs to wish everyone goodnight. The lights have switched off, fall asleep, fall asleep, my love. We can stand under your window and let fly, these black balloons, these pastel ribbons and letters you should read. To spread out like colored vines, against the walls of your heart and your house. To stick onto the glass, and sweep through the cracks into your empty room. To get along better, to lie down under the cool and heavy blanket, pushing yourself into sleep and spare fragments of whatever sanity and dreams are reproducing in your head. Itís been 5 fucking weeks now and youíve finally tasted the thin thin threads of life. Nothing can change, nothing can improve this hole youíve dug, and youíve managed to loose so much interest that itís impossible now to find energy and passion in your fingertips. We donít have ladders to climb your walls, but were trying to save you from yourself.