I wonder myself about music that I’m into in, too weird for some people to be heard. But it’s fine.
She crosses the line, looking around to be in a better place spending with. She is in music of her.
A name under cloudy sky, too pretty to spell it each letter. I choose to have a seat and let the birds sing along their friends.
I spend much time with coffee, finding out the idea to be written on my sheets. I close any ears to hear somebody’s calling. I just let him in a joy of his disco.
As flowers tell me a glory identity, I do understand what my music into is. Never enough to express myself inside of this headbang.
I keep myself within my own world; creating my art, doing what I can do, reading that I am up to, flirting at a girl that I love only, writing to make a sense… for myself.
Let’s to be honest, she likes to knit any macrames, I spend time to sit with my whole writing’s ideas.There are some time can’t to be bothered at seconds or even for hours.
I choose to understand her while she is listening to music. She decides to keep her name alive while looking at my favorite ones. We are the same behind of any defferences.
Information tell me a fairy tale, disco is more than enough to make people seem alive. I’m on my way to accept this assumption.
But she says music is to relax under pressure situation. I keep turning this hard song to prove her that I have my own kind of taste.
Disco is where some people accept themselves to dance together. I create metal as my playlist, drive me faster seeking for the ideas.
Then they choose what they are up to. She belongs to her favourites. I simply consistent of my decision.
The music is an art; art that is based on everyone’s perspective. When they turn on disco at the party, she listens of pop, keeping in relaxation. I play metal to burn the emotion.
Since we don’t need to be the same at all…
I accept their song’s taste
I’m making sense, at all.
— BREAKING REZA
