My heart is not at rest. In Tinseltown where I divest. My heart, my time, my interest. Instead of joy, it has become a pest. Time to leave, I suggest. My turn to find the best. No regrets in leaving lest, I'm losing out on the finest.
This ridiculous exercise, I'm doing because I'm avoiding. And this is bad. Terribly so. I'm bored. And I refuse. Mad one.
You silly creature, one who doesn't listen to her senses. Just abandon everything to the wind. And see how you like it better.
Heartsick. Everything tumbles and stumbles. And there is not one thing that you're really really sure of.
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