#...oop

“I’m gonna go burn Dartz temple down--” stop HIM

I’ll let you all guess how much older Jim is! It isn’t his first year of captain that’s for sure

In the bathroom it gets blurry, gets warm and distorted, Like light pushed the orange of the pillbox he poured in His palm. It falls to the floor, he smiles as it hits, “Sounds a little like an instrument.” Like a voice in the choir, that hum and that drumbeat of life as an art-form and Fire through the streets that keep moving us in silence to phantom baton sweeps, Keep tapping to the tempo of our feet. And all the ones who seem to fit the best into the chorus never notice there’s a song And the ones who seem to hear it end up tortured by the chords when they fail to find A way to sing along. And when you sing the wrong thing it all starts collapsing. Starts to ring out and feedback, starts lapsing and crashing, on notes that don’t clash But that never quite feel like they match. And I never quite feel like mine match. There’s a melody in everything, I’m trying to find a harmony but Nothing seems to work, Nothing seems to fit.