Like a rolling stone

I've been taking all my ghosts and deliberate them, a fight without cause, a fight for one. and the answer that calls me at night is just a broken smile, not a sure smile or a no-feeling outstanding new life. it's the same you that brings this little laugh but is just inside out, honey. I'm quit confusing, I know it well, but in some place inside my madness, it rests a hope that creeps my mind out every time I look at your freed wings. baby, you're a rolling stone. it's about a piece of hope that only exists in a part of my confusion. afterwords, this drag in your neck, this silent goodbye, this tear that regrets in my good part, it's just to say that it's not always this way. that vese that keeps me wake every single night: maybe she knows something I don't know. you know something I don't know. and I just can't seem to learn. yes! I'm a fucking mess but I'm a beatle, intead. classical and too sentimental, running just to call, living just to poetry. Needing a little sadness to survive, to write, to live. Being a rolling stone, it's the missing part! is it? is you? would you? ...