condescending saints, descending angels
grip the coal black sky
a language etched in rusty steel
the force of
incredible will shifitng the
backbone of impossible chance
her love grew tired
and cut the threads
and bled goodbyes
into the shallow pools
of impotent thought
grip the coal black sky
a language etched in rusty steel
the force of
incredible will shifitng the
backbone of impossible chance
her love grew tired
and cut the threads
and bled goodbyes
into the shallow pools
of impotent thought
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