stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes

Gypsy Heart.

You, my dear, are cigarette smoke. Dancing free and beautiful in the air, yet gone in an instant. With a golden heart and gypsy mind, theres no telling where your loyalties lie. Like it or not; Run, you’ll be caught, and I swear I’ll expose you. Remove the faces and fronts you put on to make yourself seem indifferent. In all reality, you should settle down and be loved. In your own, however, you’re above it. Paperweights on single sheets keep me held down to drown, sinking like a cinderblock. All for you. Again, you are cigarette smoke, but I am a gust of wind.