Her voice is quite, but her mind is a sparkle
A troubled face under the city lights
Illuminating a touch of freedom
She opens the window, a blow of fresh air penetrates into the pores
She can feel her skin expands
As if, finally breathing again
In and out, slowly regaining consciousness
Her lips are in full bloom
The taste of bitter sweet espresso still lingers
Thou she can hardly recalls the pretty face who left it there
She remembers warmth
and his breath smells like trouble
There she is, wondering she should have stayed a bit longer
At least just to know his name
But the wind blows so strong
Sending worries all over the blood
Strangeland excites her,
like the day after storms,
full of possibilities,
full of promises
-- Going to Malioboro on Saturday night is the same with asking the karate guy at school for a duel. A hot mess.
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