I am a merchant who fills this land with the novelty and nonsense that withers wills. My struggle is to keep with what country demands, and family deserves. I put the bread in the mouths of my best and last hope that this name earns honor. It will be the first. I am a purveyor of bullshit and landfill, and broken dreams. Oh look how I've made an inheritance of others' ideas. Most of which should not have left their lips. I fear that my usefulness has expired. Yet you won't let me go. I am in a race to produce things to buy to eat things to make more things. I don't have the tools to withdraw myself. We are not hearty, we are usually fallen ill. Is it the tough conversations that warrant our stay? See I am powerless and take no pleasure in hard battles of words won. But is this my story? I struggle to love right here, the shadows that pass me by. Why should I leave my land? I question the motives of those I should prop up on my shoulders and carry; but not my own at my time. I will not leave my land.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
