A Golden Grey

She walks with a sadness like shes never known exiting from the back in black from head to toe a swallow of stale station air leaving behind the taste of despair almost running into someone she used to know as fragile as a flower she wonders if she can go on its been a long morning another cold back
Sunday its like shes been awake for hours another dying
Sunday she hopes to hide these things behind a darkened veil she dies inside thinking of every time she failed it seems like only yesterday a memory of golden grey foreshadowing a pale tomorrow if she could hold on one more hour maybe she can go on its been a long morning another cold back
Sunday its like shes been awake for hours another dying
Sunday she knows she tried stuck in the middle she blames herself, a little she knows she tried suck in the middle she hates this sound its been a long morning another cold back
Sunday its like shes been awake for hours another dying
Sunday