The golden rays stream through the barely green trees, illuminating the dying leaves as a last helpless tribute to the glory that was once theirs. Now, all that's left of the forgotten days of old are these dying giants, dwarfed by the mass of ugly concrete growing all around.
I lie here, on this gray roof under these gray skies, burning through with a guilt I can't understand and a sense of fast fading responsibility. There was nothing I could do. There is nothing I can do. Not anymore... I would have liked to burn bright and fast, like the falling embers from this last cigarette. Instead, I can only unravel, my thoughts bleeding into the heavy air as I try to hold on to memories it would do me well to forget. I fade, a dull reddish scar from an injury so long forgotten, that even the birds don't remember.
And I wait for the dark...
Now playing: Pink Floyd - High Hopes