last now forge

sadness, the long dis-ease and you'll always be just afingerprint or seven down the road, soi i'll sing you wilco songs at dawn and wake you with a finger (like a quiver) on your back tracing every inch of you and then i'm then i'm going back to sleep, happy, mirth-war over.

2003-05-11 | 12:55 p.m.
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