MoonPriestessLaguz

Up on melancholy hill There's a plastic tree Are you here with me Just looking out on the day Of another dream Seagulls’ nauseating caws sounded with the precision of a chronometer outside on the beach as Murdoc sat at his table, struggling and sighing over a piece of blank paper, sometimes glancing at the sawed-off shotgun that hung the opposite wall. This morning on his island, foggy and dismal, seemed lonelier and colder than a dead mother’s breast. Murdoc gritted his teeth and tensed his grip on the pen he was holding as if trying to squeeze out any lyrics that might have been stowed away inside. One of the seagulls gave out