The downpour seems to be intoxicated with bold
hints of a question you haven't quite realized, not quite yet. The throbbing
pulse fails to escape exhilaration when that familiar rhyme competes
with your senses and it gets harder and harder to keep up with your
rationality; the very same rationality which was your sense of pride. The pride
however, seems to have extinguished in a matter of those few hours of the noisy
evening; when facts turned into irony, when practicality seems absurd at the
vivid fantasies your overwhelmed mind materializes, you can almost touch it.
You're in control of yourself, you're standing straight. But what would you not give, to let that guard off, and just act like the irresponsible voice that echoes in your ear quietly; the one you're turning a deaf ear to, the one that resonates in the void within you, winks at you, to give in.
The downpour seems to be intoxicated with bold hints of a question, you'd realized a long time ago.
You're in control of yourself, you're standing straight. But what would you not give, to let that guard off, and just act like the irresponsible voice that echoes in your ear quietly; the one you're turning a deaf ear to, the one that resonates in the void within you, winks at you, to give in.
The downpour seems to be intoxicated with bold hints of a question, you'd realized a long time ago.
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