
I see what hangs out
of every room you air out
but I don't collect

I see what hangs out
of every room you air out
but I don't collect

I look at the sky
always there above the walls
can't find my new shades

I looked more than up
when my surrounding fell down
I'm Buster Keaton

Descending into
each steps uncertain landing
the thrill of looking

The dark light controls
and waits for the dawn to turn
standing proud it bows

I'm moving through streets
passing myself everywhere
the colors distract

It's closer to dawn
standing still with the Earth's whirl
the sun doesn't rise

I came across and
I remember that it meant
numbered memories

If it's straightforward
we could untangle it all
just take off the gloves

I like to vent
but my collection is done
the world in neat rows

The crooked left side
delusional and optics
a clearly straight line

Overlooking the street
through dirty white translucent blinds
a silent fan's noise

I've tried throwing in
my windows from not that far
the cracks still perform

I was still going
and learned how to move up
I fallen sideways

I wait forever
with never-ending pressure
just dreaming of it