"Where are you going to" - a dangling chameleon.
This question forms the ideal.
The future of dark clothes and a jaded view,
romantic odes to the night. You wanted it. You said you did.
Do not ask me for truths.
We are false.
A trumpet with pin stripes
Sweet smelling smoke, a mute.
There's an answer hidden in a city at night.
Songstress, belting a building away
Piano, white velvet and the gem of eternity
ensorceled by your brow.
What should be: top hats without a computer screen.