Wasted syllables fall from the sky, gray and clouded.
Righting the wrongs aren't worth the effort when ignoring them is so much easier. And I can hear it so clearly when I gather the deluge in my hands and hold it to my ear.
Those rogue vagabonds swinging from sagging boughs. Cheap and forced statements make the twine that cause them to fight
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Completely numb.
And it is not so bad.
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