up on the bluffwhere I wish I wastwisting up the
pages of history my cold feet danglingmy bony
arms gesturingto summon up a little chunk of that
history in the corridor the shadows are longand
it messes with my equilibriumand there's strains
of a strange language up on the bluffwhere the
hardwoods jutout toward the gusts of history my
crusty mind cracksmy restless heart tracksthe
fractal lines of history in the corridor the
shadows are longand it messes with my
equilibriumand there's strains of a strange
language
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