the smell of stale cider and lost hope.

the smell of stale cider and lost hope, just when you wake up in the middle of a crisis and know in your heart no matter how long you carry on, you cant carry on. the stars used to look far away, now the clouds block their shine and all hope with only a box room of broken dreams were you keep all your little big things. who would of thought looking through a photo album would be so tiring, but at the same time your old self you cant help admiring. what would they say now if they could see the empty shell of what they were? would they even care? for back then saturday night was never so far away. were now days the resession has stole your weekend and sold it on ebay. while your single bed never hits the spot. and when you know one biscuit is never enough. and that is why they don't come in halfs. but sure the best memories are made of laughs.