Sunday 28 November 2010 photo 1/1
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The trees wither in the street
The rain is corrosive
I taste it on my tongue
And the workable horrors
The horrors that stand and idle
The slighted godmothers
With their hearts that tick and tick
With their satchels of instruments
I shall be a wall and a roof, protecting
I shall be a sky and a hill of good
Oh let me be..
Annons