It is strange how we exist in these parallel ways.
Plastic bags rolling like spit roasts in the wind.
An American Beauty moment on the way home.
Away from you for centuries i close my eyes and see a pack of wolves,
a J.H Lynch of you and me,
lanterns light your face
equations revolve around our heads
trying to
there is no small town where everyone knows us.
don't want to be known,
by anyone
you play a song and i stay silent,
more silence, more silence
that band ,
that band,
don't like them no more,
they cut their hair too short.
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