No one can love a bird - we have to think - no one can love the bird - it's the song alone we hear and our veins, like liquorice, gets sucked into the doom.
The bird sits and sings. Sings and sits. Builds a nest around. Around was a nest. Sure, it sings.
But, who sings to the bird?
In our withered nests we sit. Overgrown eggs. Cuckoo smiles. Eyeing larger than life tid bits.
And the bird sings.
The cage our eye - beholed by our bars.
5 comments:
The new template doesn't go well, methinks.
Yeah I'm still in the process of renovating my blog. That's just a test drives - there will be more to come.
this template sucks big time
Well I'm still searching for the one but which template are you talking about
You haven't commented on this piece of writing - but we are talking here about templates LOL
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