The grass where the squirrel stood to hug him Only music to fill the space between them. The sound of le mal du pays resounded in Lazarus' heart. Smoothing his hair back as rain dripped off, Who better to inhabit it, than the love squirrel. He can't stop thinking about the humble squirrel.Ī green mist clouds a lonely house on the hill. To the same place, the same face, the same bruteįor the eyeing of my scars, there is a chargeĪnd there is a charge, a very large chargeĭo not think I underestimate your great concern. Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.Īnd pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?Īnd like the cat I have nine times to die. I have never been to the city of Florence, till you’ve bring me flowers into my sanctumĪnd I returned it with these somber rhymes. Which I’ve sealed in you in a matter of time Syncing into the melody of beauty I’ve called as fair. The shade I’ve could see are from engravings of your hairĪnd all colors only simmers from the iris of your eyes.Īnd the aroma of every rain feels so bland.Ĭlears the way to set the stage of stars in the skies The hue of all my lights have became so dull, Nothing permeates from this age old skull sent me crumbling into my untimely grave.
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