Target

It's cold outside and my hands are dry skin is cracked and i realize that i hate the sound of guitars a thousand grudging young millionaires forcing silence sucking sound forced into this conversation so i shine let their planets collide this is the darkening down of my mind we could be making it oiling like crime we could be making it staking last dimes if you want to sieze the sound you don't need a reservation the torch is pased it's yours to return lay at their feet now use it to burn for marketing the use of the word generation a false alliance of money persuading forcing silence sound sucking forced into this conversation now if you want to sieze the sound you don't need a reservation so open so young so target i can smell your heart you're a target