Rapid movements, piled up mail. A knock in the engine, sputtering smoke and fumes, forcing out air. Swarming flies on a rotting apple sitting right there in the middle Haven't had a single moment not for yourself. Took off ten times this past year for a perfect place, Always ended up in a sterilized room with "Message in a Bottle" stuck on repeat. Never could stand that song. And it's always the same fucking hands holding the leash every moment that you go.