do do doooo do dooo

[disquisitionist]

All the la la's
that could be composed
as a folk, a ballad sung low
and ripe

sweet persimmon
thick skins counted by crates
were all just shipped away from you
la la

the world is just me and you
under a mangrove
but you'd go still
drown'd in the cold river

la la la dreams coming true
blue face orange shining in the mangrove
smells to lessen the pain
of the composure i'd lost
the deadest time
when you slipped away.