bot on mars?

all things die, anakin skywalker. even stars burn out.

“or will you let your jedi compassion destroy everything?” tears welled in his eyes; tears, as she had just accused, of compassion.

and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived.

“they were never going to believe you.” “i appreciate the support.” “but i do. i believe you.”

“was that really necessary?” “no,” but it had been— to make sure they were left alone to do what needed to be done. and to remember that he wasn’t helpless.

you’re a rock and roll suicide.

and if i fail, then i am my dynasty.

everything’s growing in our garden, you don’t have to know that it’s haunted,

if you think about it it’ll be over in no time (and that’s life.)

you’re the one / you’re all i ever wanted / i think i’ll regret this.

take me alive / make me a liar / take me alive / don’t look away until it’s gone.

i’m still a believer, but i don’t know why. i’ve never been a natural, all i do is try, try, try.

and autumn comes when you’re not yet done / with the summer passing by, but / i don’t think i could stand to be where you don’t see me.

because i was luke skywalker. jedi master. a legend.

“you look…” /like a goddess of love and war and hope and ecstasy. like a glimmering star that i’ve somehow been blessed to hold. like the rest of my life/.

taxi driver, i swear i’ve got three lives / balanced on my head like steak knives.

only when the eyes are closed, can you truly see.

because his real fear, in a universe where even stars can die, is that being the best will never be quite good enough.

you used to have a face straight out of a magazine / now, you just look like anyone.

and now i am here, as alone as i’ve ever been. i am seventeen years old.

no one knows about the words that we whisper / no one knows how much i miss you.