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At the End of the Line

At the end of the line, I’ll be looking down
Like, I promise at the end of times, I’ll be up in the clouds
Blowing in the air, creating smoke rings with God
I promise, climbing the stairs, I’ll make ends with the stars

At the end of the line, I’ll be looking blind
Like, I was never aware that the times we had was fine
Blowing dusty smoke rings into a closet filled with dust
Inhaling a fragrance of rusty love upon memories of us

At the end of the line, I’ll be looking gone
Like, I offered a trip, but didn’t want you to come along
Blowing smoke rings into the wind possible to follow
On the road of desolation, which is a fine line of sorrow...

© Martin Ångnell 2010 - 2017