...

I don't wanna talk about things I don't know... 'Cause it's all lies, you know, and I really wished to be real sometime. Live in that wood house, sorrounded by a big garden and with that tire swing and the tree house we've never had. But we'll never get this, will we?
We'll sit in the same place in the table. We're gonna eat in the same restaurant and play the same scene we're used to.
We'll forget how to dream and, specially, how to look foward them.

I don't wanna blank it out.
I want my air back.


(Listening: Conrad Pope - Remembering Marilyn)