He sits across the park,
on a bench made out of bark.
He stares at it, as a whole.
Metal bins, concrete path
his sins, between a building, so so old.
The rain's so fine, it looks like a mist.
The rain's so fine, it feels like a mist.
on a bench made out of bark.
He stares at it, as a whole.
Metal bins, concrete path
his sins, between a building, so so old.
The rain's so fine, it looks like a mist.
The rain's so fine, it feels like a mist.