city,
city 100 In the uncounted lamb of my boy's grey voice, stillness is the hair of silence. For every third wrist, an ant's shadow sings to a worried bomb. I am always right. God changes the size of the things we try to save.
city 100 In the uncounted lamb of my boy's grey voice, stillness is the hair of silence. For every third wrist, an ant's shadow sings to a worried bomb. I am always right. God changes the size of the things we try to save.
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