Tuesday, December 07, 2004

No birds caught

Through the sawdust streets of the shattered glass steppes the fog is hanging low Whispering amid the wanting stones Here the houses glow on holiday eves Clasp with family an only a wash with vain though through distance and fog it begins to wan Closing my eyes the panic bites and shake like a dog Holding on hard cus im afraid to let go Afraid to see the last whispers serpent away Afraid for the day the dreams all forgot


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