Wednesday, 7th October 2015

And sometimes I think I’m running around,
Like a dog with no song, no song.
And I’m following some flickering lamp,
In the fog, the fog.

I know, I know, that I’m getting older.
I don’t think they really like me.
If I could stay just a little longer,
They might be giving up new greys.

Lesser Oceans (Fences)

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