Hang on.

Ostsin riidepuid. Eemaldan silte, millele on kirjutatud Hang On. Naeratan kurvamaiguliselt ja panen mängima Regina Spektori Braille. Silm hakkab jälle tõmblema. Latte keerab kõhu ülespoole ja mõnuleb. And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes.

They were just two jerks playing with matches, cause that's all they knew how to play. And it was raining cats and dogs out side of her window and she knew they were destined to become sacred road kill on the way.

After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches, it's just that he's not around to play along. I'm still an ass hole playing with matches, blowing out wishes, blowing out my dreams. Just sitting here and trying to decipher what's written in Braille upon my skin...