Jilted to the Core
Life grows in crevices, Dark places under stone, Clouds hug the hills, Where the bullocks roam, Architecture of neanderthals, Till the eyes can see, Rough but tender land, Away by the sea, Sharp...
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There was an old man who looked dead and gone, Pale as death with the reaper beside, He held the black juice dear to his soul, When he played the accordion these angels appeared, These angels had...
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