|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| home | help | back | first | fref | pref | prev | next | nref | lref | last | post |
The last light of day crept away like a drunkard after gin. A hint of chanted prayer now whispers from the fresh night wind to this shattered heart and soul held together by habit and skin and to this half-gnawed bone of apprehension buried in my brain as i don't feel your touch, again. - Bruce Cockburn Actually, the Subject line says it all for me!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| home | help | back | first | fref | pref | prev | next | nref | lref | last | post |