I was waiting for the cold air and the ice to freeze the pond west of the trumpeter. I remember the chill of a bite on the back of my throat. Headphones on a road trip keep my mind frozen like the water. While in search through my empty daft mind. How could I leave catastrophe? I forgot where I could find you. Now I need a place to be the end-game torture. So now I'm staring through the pouring rain with a lot to lose, and I'm still selfish. I am the end game torture. We can't look back.
