Cages, holy caged, where is thy good souls flight from the towers, we could not build,
From island we could not sail, our insignias are not flapping, in the cold summer breeze
And each day takthing, more, time to curl around, wriggling into the souls spot,
Found to be; already dead, with the redemptionless guilt
William Eaton - Music by William Eaton (1978)
3 years ago
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