The dance in this light wise bazaar sings all evening’s descends as a dear black cloak shivering the red life of your lie, and the do so of your old vessels graceful searching.
I am in the land of bare feet and ghosts riding on mosquitoes.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
The dance in this light wise bazaar sings all evening’s descends as a dear black cloak shivering the red life of your lie, and the do so of your old vessels graceful searching.
I am in the land of bare feet and ghosts riding on mosquitoes.