The Question Of The Bombs Testo

I'd stay up all night if sleeping was the problem. I'd never eat again just to spite food. But in the morning I'd just be left with deadened eyes and vacant breath, and still have this omnipresent aching on my left. still I'd wake up at the same time everyday, still I feel like we have nothing left to say. Is it attrition? Redefinition? While weighing down the human cost of indecision. Now I'm well read-up wityh no place to go. I'm all fed up and there's no place to go.