Kokochi Sun3 hand-made boots
You give me two numbers.
One of them past, and one of them latter,
Corresponding digits calculating fears located ontop of your palm,
But you’re looking at a plane and I’m falling straight forward,
Your coordinates ignore a 3d existence.
You fall into your own hands and suddenly your rules fall away,
Altered by an ever expanding arena,
You can’t keep assigning,
I don’t know anything,
But at some point you’ve got to believe in something.