Mountains are made by colliding plates
Such a cliché to describe the mountains as body parts. Butts and breasts and wrinkled bellies. Beige like Nordic skin, touched just a few hours by African sun. Barely a scent of adventure. Barely some sand in the sandals. Is it now it begins or ends?
Such a cliché to let twenty years pass. Sedated by rain. Comatosed by snow. Hoping the prince will come. Waiting and precipitation doesn't make me Sleeping Beauty. There will be no hero piercing through thorns. A princess need to get her own chainsaw.
Such a cliché to jump on a plane and make the stranger on the neighbouring seat your destiny. Step into his car. A world only seen on screen now passes by through a stained windshield. Battery on my phone is about to die. Save it for emergency or waste it on a song. Sing along to Morrison's voice. "Come on baby, light my fire" No way, I will hold my own lighter.
Such a cliché to let twenty years pass. Sedated by rain. Comatosed by snow. Hoping the prince will come. Waiting and precipitation doesn't make me Sleeping Beauty. There will be no hero piercing through thorns. A princess need to get her own chainsaw.
Such a cliché to jump on a plane and make the stranger on the neighbouring seat your destiny. Step into his car. A world only seen on screen now passes by through a stained windshield. Battery on my phone is about to die. Save it for emergency or waste it on a song. Sing along to Morrison's voice. "Come on baby, light my fire" No way, I will hold my own lighter.