(no subject)
Oh, through the ages of marble
And the collections of blue glass on your
windowsill. there is no place for a dusty piano
and you hear stories of barns full of them
and your fingers quiver
down to the ocean,
And the collections of blue glass on your
windowsill. there is no place for a dusty piano
and you hear stories of barns full of them
and your fingers quiver
down to the ocean,