Reversed pockets confused change, behind my shades green eyes stare,
stare at the inside o a rare bar and empty bottles of wine. Shiny glasses, people dancing, lights fade across the street, an old man sits, just wondering. His newspaper waves goodbye while the wind blows, it's tomorrow he's concerned about. High hills clamp above the wooden floor, constant sighs violate her walk ''she moves on''. Insane curves asfixiating delusions moments of desire call, like this whisky sliding down my through.