drawn guitars til double lined.

woke up, believer. the sound of a caustic sea. chased shadows with warmer backs, followed footsteps. "fell into it, like a dreamer." taken from everywhere. reoccuring inspiration, mounting. some soft tune hums from below. thru the wooden floor a familiar voice backed by some strumming. tim would walk 500 miles. crept out and earlier, thru the rain and divided invisibility, tried my tired hands at handling.  the roads soaked, the truck. soaked and so on. caught a quick glimpse of summer two thousand two. eased back a few tears and kept it going. trucks are for driving, hoods are for hiding. i wish these walls to be and you were hospitable. i found these walls to be and i was honestly...