Deafheaven - Dream House


Hindered by sober restlessness. Submitting to the amber crutch. The theme in my aching prose. Fantasizing the sight of Manhattan; that pour of a bitter red being that escapes a thin frame. The rebirth of mutual love. The slipping on gloves to lay tenderly. 

"I'm dying." 
- "Is it blissful?" 
"It's like a dream." 
- "I want to dream."

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