He’s got fasting black lungsMade of clove splintered shardesThey’re the kind that will talkThrough a weezing of coughs
And I hear him every nightIn every poreAnd every time he just makes me warm
Freeze without an answerFree from all the shameMust I hide?Cause I’ll neverNever sleep alone
Look at how they flock to himFrom an isle of open [...]
The Widow
May 23rd, 2005 · No Comments
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