Now we are bumming solitude.
Inside island of sea view room
A wind under door is a wheeze.
It bangs our walls by a thunder
Burning our fears on slow fire.
A secret poem lies hid in bones.
Now we are bumming solitude.
Inside island of sea view room
A wind under door is a wheeze.
It bangs our walls by a thunder
Burning our fears on slow fire.
A secret poem lies hid in bones.
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