My soul is burning as it is slithering through the silver soil. Slivers of seas, buried in salt. And the sun is the winter’s sub, waiting for the right order. My soul is burning, slipping silently into the skin of the oppressed. Subjective submissives. Tell me what I need to do to be less sad.
Subway to Sally – Meine Seele brennt
reflections of an unquiet mind 