Martina

Is this really the place, to start to cry, where even love's ashamed, the life around you shows, the beat of time, now nowhere else to go, soaked on the ocean main, the airways you fly, always open to winning ways, what is there to know, when you sail the sky, wooden box or last throw, you once jumped bail, blamed that other guy, beyond the spike of jail, your lips atone, for all the constant lies, like the stars grow cold, it's not easy to explain, what goes on inside, your face strained, your eyes a constant why? .