out past the fountain, a left by the station,
i start the day in the usual way.
then think well why not and stop for a coffee,
and begin to recall things that you say.
pluck up the courage and snap, it's gone again.
i start humming when doves cry.
can someone help me, i think that i'm lost here.
lost in a place called ...
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art does not do for the people, art does to the people
nedaudz par īsu (eovina) wrote on April 20th, 2006 at 08:03 pm
šodien es dejoju mūziklā