| the_yells_outside | ||
| Death of a Rose |
This seems to be an arguement over the rights of the ground. A quick enterprise exacted upon the feeding. My compressed thoughts are always stuck at the turn signal. Overfilled ashtrays cradle this loose filled finality. An unbound agreement, focused tears loosely given. Sing now while your shadows drop in remote locales, before your empathy is a gradual renaming. Sparkling mist covering me, the creation unfolded in this joyous feeling. A designated majority with singular purpose. The command sequence debated, asked and met in challenges sweet. A leaf dropped in surprise, always demure. An anomoly of this prediction, slowed by time only. In the words replaced, a river still rushes to a home at battle. Inscrutable distances speak of a permanent wall, built upon the solid footings. Many men have lost the history of together braking. |
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