Tuesday, June 06, 2006

hazy, rainy wind in moscow, feels like the end of days





Poke out the sun
And all its eyes
Tear up the moon
All down its skin

Peel at the waters
To keep them deaf
Choke up the sky
And thin out its neck

Then paint it in blood
Where people don’t read
To silence the babes
As the nerves were real

It’s true that I love her

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