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In the anticlimax,
We pull white sheets over our heads
And almost rise as ghosts
Rise like smoke
Then I blow the air back into your lungs
Each morning,
The Sun comes
Then it doesn’t
Each day,
Our bodies numb
But they mustn’t
Each night,
The sky falls
And heaven falls in love with Earth
In the end,
We’ve learned how little peace and quiet is really worth
Hold my gloved hand
Hold our breath
Hold off idle doom
Will God think it ironic if we die in our living room?
Yorumlar