The low sky looks like it's about to cry
I spit a low mixture of saliva and agitation on the sidewalk
I cower at the thought of tomorrow,
Worrying that everything might fall apart.
In my heart, I know that looking ahead
To the day after tomorrow won't give me a single answer.
Tomorrow is like an empty canvas that extends endlessly;
What should I sketch on it?
Reality begins to stain the canvas black;
What should I draw?
I struggle to shine.
Tomorrow is like an empty canvas that extends endlessly;
What should I sketch on it?
Reality begins to stain the canvas black;
What should I draw?
I struggle to shine.