Traveling all by myself Towards an end there might be home in. And you sit there by yourself Watch the sun fade in to gloaming. In a bubble all alone In a crowded bus of strangers. A factory-made throne Unreleased from all the dangers. In a town of passing trough It gets hard to stay under the rain. And when nothing is ever new You forget what it’s like to feel pain.
And you think to yourself That even though it’s so easy to fall The world is kind of beautiful After all.
När fiktionen känns närmare än verkligheten.
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