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Creature of Habit
No one to ask how my day went No one to care how my money been spent For some sometimes just living is hard   For some sometimes loving is even worse For others. well they can’t let themselves be loved.   Who has feathered wings and who bares the mark now Passion lost in translation, like old love in modern days. It’s lost between the spread of your fingers.   History speaks like an open wound on the bend of the knee.   Needless to say everyone still needs just the same.Creature of Habit  Similar to birds of disease spreading their sickness with the flap of their wings. Some never stay grounded long enough to grow a conscience   Some circle their prey targeting the weak hearted  Others keep flight so nothing develops  I’ve seen freedom lost with the hold of a hand I’ve seen others disappear from a single glance.

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