I wrote a poem. Again.
note: start the music video from 7:56!
Colours for the blindfolded,
the taste of something with just
spicy air outside the restaurant.
Just the scratch on the car,
a small, insignificant drop of rust
on the smallest of screws
in the garage.
Colours for the blindfolded,
through the warm sun’s strokes,
in between the old, plastic windows.
It is just a hope that will never die,
that the blindfolded will uncover his eye.
againorway 