softenings
I don’t know how sick
to tell you
he is
–
it could
well be
that violins
put the humming
in the wrist
of god
–
sleep is where
one learns
to faint
I don’t know how sick
to tell you
he is
–
it could
well be
that violins
put the humming
in the wrist
of god
–
sleep is where
one learns
to faint
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