The Writer
Here's the sun, it will, come undone, it's like...An old stone, it will fall into the sea.
And all these secrets they will, fall from your tongues, portrait pictures of your favourite portrait sons.
The time has come for you to come undone, come undone, come undone.
The Writer battles with his pen in hand, to think up something you won't understand. And with the ban and banality of late, all we can do is hate; our words can't take a stand.
The time has come for you to come undone, come undone, come undone.
Poetry by Toulouse Wolfe.
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Written on 2010-06-06 at 19:35
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Toulouse Wolfe. |
Eli |
jenks |