i miss the days when we were younger hand in hand bandits. i miss the comfort we had no one was forgoten the friendship was free all the weed became the seed to build our friendship then bury it underground i want to go back i need to be held, even just to belong a singe whisper of that love, of that bond lost in shards through townsfolk lawns misunderstanding with a coat of incensitivity will surely be the death of me. pouring words from my heart hope theyre heard by my home
